The Core of Souls
by Halm Vendrella
Summary: Six months after the defeat of Buu, the newfound peace is threatened by the discovery of an ancient artifact from the depths of Earth's own past. Can even the Z Fighters stand against a threat millions of years in the making? G/V, B/V, T for DBZ violence.
1. Chapter One: Digging Deep

Chapter One

Digging Deep

Night and day they dug away, deeper every hour. Hammers, shovels, picks, and carts all lent their sounds to the echoes that filled the mine. It was hard work, and slow, but they had lost two tunnels already as soon as the heavy equipment had been brought down, so they made do with the strength of their arms. The eggheads and their fancy gadgets back on the surface said it would all be worth it, but these men could care less. They were paid by the hour, after all.

The constant crack of picks against rock was almost enough to drive them mad, but still they dug. The squeaking of the trolleys that carried the loose stone back to the surface was even worse, but every rock that was taken up was one less between them and the riches that awaited. Without their drills and jackhammers they worked harder than they ever had before, but they went at the cavern with grim determination, and the walls gave way to ringing clicks and the clatter of tumbling stone.

A foreman surveyed their work, his experienced eye studying the small passage, on the lookout for signs of weakness, or changes in the stone. They were digging through a labyrinth, though the eggheads' fancy charts said that every one of the hundreds of passages beneath this mountain led to the same place. That was the clue that this was a worthwhile place to dig: the tunnels may have been filled in, by time or on purpose, but they had been man-made. And it made what they led to either very old, very valuable… or both.

One of the workers stood up, removing his helmet to wipe the sweat from his face. He turned to face the foreman with a tired expression. "C'mon boss, we been at this for hours. Give us a break, will yah?" The repeating clinks slowed as a few other workers stopped to catch their breath, most grumbling their agreement.

The boss seemed to ignore them for a moment, casting a last look around the passage, before sighing and turning towards his crew. "All right boys," he called, his commanding voice echoing through the gloom, "take a breather." The last sounds faded away, most of the workers slumping down against whatever was convenient. Even the conversation was muted, most of the men taking the chance to try and catch a nap. The foreman crouched down and picked up one of the fragments of rubble on the cavern floor, studying it with a practiced eye.

An older worker, his face hard and lined beneath the sweat and dust, bent down next to him, the light from the lamp on his helmet dancing over the ground. Gray hair poked out from beneath his hard hat. "Strange dig this is. Don't you think, Mr. Duggin?"

"Yes," said Duggin, nodding. He looked up from the rock in his hand. "Most of this mountain is pure sandstone and shale, but the rock we've been going through is some of the toughest I've ever seen. This tunnel was filled in on purpose, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah," the worker agreed, looking back down the mine. Half a dozen diggers were now dozing against the extent of their progress, while the rest of the walls were lined with the men who loaded the displaced rock into the carts, and the men who pushed them back up the rickety rails towards daylight. "And all the test tunnels we dug in the softer stuff collapsed before we got twenty feet."

"Well, this passage seems stable enough. We've been careful," Duggin said, looking around at the many braces lining the walls of the tunnel. "But help me keep an eye on them, Granny," the foreman added. "We lost two men in tunnel sixteen yesterday. One second they're digging, the next they've got half the mountain on top of them. I don't want any sloppy mistakes."

"You can count on me, sir," said Granny. The man's true name was Kolby Granite, but as fitting as that was for a digger, he was also the oldest man on the crew by ten years, so everyone called him Granny.

"We're the farthest group down by almost fifty feet," Duggin said. His voice had dropped to a whisper, but it still carried in the silence. "But it just means everyone else will be trying that much harder to catch up." With the early misfortunes in their drilling, and so many routes to their goal, the crews had been split up to see who could make the most progress. Almost twenty teams were now inching their way through this ancient network, and there was a juicy bonus waiting for whichever team made it first. But the men didn't know that… yet. The foreman was saving that bit of motivation for when they got closer.

"Why the hurry, sir?"

"The geologists can't decide which is more interesting: the mountain, or the tunnels themselves. They want us out of here so they can have their turn." The foreman's expression turned into a grimace. "And the sponsors have been getting impatient for us to make good on our promises of exciting new finds."

"Well, sir, we'll make it, even if we have to start usin' our fingernails," Granny chuckled. The men had known about the bonus almost as soon as the foreman had; there were no secrets on these crews, who made a living putting themselves beneath billions of tons of rock. They were happy to let the bosses think whatever they liked, though. "After all, that's what—" he stopped abruptly, his eyes losing focus. He cocked his head as if struggling to hear a distant sound. The foreman looked at him with concern for a moment, but then a noise, more felt than heard, brought realization surging forth. The two men crouched in perfect silence, with only the soft sound of their coworkers breathing around them. _Crack_, louder this time, followed by a soft rumble and groan.

Duggin shot to his feet, nearly slamming his helmet on the top of the tunnel. "Everyone up and out of the mine!" he bellowed, pointing frantically back down the passage towards the exit. Granny added his voice, rousing the men and urging them out.

The dozing crew jerked awake, stumbling to their feet in the dim glow from their helmet lamps. Not wasting time with questions, they all began running as fast as they could back through the tunnel. Soon the groans and rumbles of loosening rock were audible even over the commotion, raising panic in the crew. They struggled over debris on the cavern floor, clambering desperately as the sound of the mountain's malice shifted to a deep and constant rumble. The mouths of the other passages flew by, filled with the men of the other crews as they joined them in their scramble for the surface. The lamps on their hardhats danced like mad fireflies as dust began falling around them from the low roof. The tunnel was packed wall to wall with fleeing men as the light of the exit came into view.

With a last horrible groan, the passage gave way behind them, rocks collapsing on men and scattered equipment. A few dozen made it outside ahead of the collapse, and more struggled out amongst the cloud of grit and sand, Duggin and Granny among them. They had to help one man dig himself out of the pile of smaller stones at the edge of the cave in, but somehow everyone had made it out alive.

Numb with shock, the foreman stared at the plume of dust spewing lazily into the air. His body was covered in dirt and small cuts. "How?" he managed. "The passage was fine two minutes ago!" his hand was shaking as he pointed.

Granny limped over, cradling his right arm, which was caked in dirt and blood. Not everyone had made it through the falling rubble unscathed. "If I didn't know any better, sir, I'd say it was rigged… trapped, like. No way it'd just collapse on its own."

Medics from the nearby base camp were swarming around the diggers now, followed closely by the director of the excavation, who was in a frenzy trying to determine what had transpired. He spotted Duggin and ran over. "What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"No idea, sir," the foreman replied, proud at himself for keeping his voice from shaking. "We'd sat down for a breather when the passage just gave way."

"Passages don't just give way!" the director exclaimed. His crews' near brush with death notwithstanding, they were well behind schedule. He was not an insensitive man, but everything he had was invested in this dig. He was looking at the end of his company if he didn't come up with something soon, and this setback looked to claim every scrap of progress they had made so far.

Duggin opened his mouth to reply when he spotted another man hurrying over, carrying a large bundle of crumpled graphs and charts. It was the lead geologist, running over from the seismic sensors they had on site.

"Sir!" he called towards the director, his nasally voice cutting through the noise and chaos outside the collapsed tunnel. "You have to see this!" He plowed through the crowds, skidding to a halt on the gravel, and then dropped to his knees and began spreading out the sheets.

Duggin and Granny leaned over with the director to study the charts the geologist was laying out. The scientist hurriedly began pointing at various spots on the chart from a seismograph. "These are the workers in passage eleven," he began without preamble, pointing to a spot of short, tightly bunched slashes. "And here is something I can't explain," the geologist continued, jabbing excitedly at a sudden rise on the graph. Only it wasn't a regular spike… the line rose in one direction, standing out amongst the other up-and-down scribbles of the chart, and kept rising at a steady pace, then abruptly dropped off to normal. The noise of the collapse, all spikes and jagged lines, followed after. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Perhaps your gear malfunctioned?" the director asked, studying the graphs with obvious incredulity.

The scientist shook his head, laying out more sheets of graph paper, one after another. "Passage six. Passage nine. Passage fourteen. All the same." Every sheet showed the same steady, impossible slope.

The other three men studied the graphs with varying degrees of understanding, but all knew enough about basic geology to see that what was before them was far from normal. In fact, it was impossible. Seismographs measured the subtle vibrations of shifting rock that traveled through the surface of the Earth, which caused the sensitive needle on the machine to oscillate back and forth, resulting in the unique look of the seismic charts. To see a seismograph peg in one direction like the chart in front of them was not just unheard of, it was contrary to the laws of physics.

Duggin, still half in shock, was the first to put together the puzzle. All the irregularities from this dig, from the odd rock composition to the sudden collapse to the puzzling seismograph readings, led him to one conclusion. "This collapse wasn't natural," he said softly, his eyes not leaving the graphs. "I think that something doesn't want us digging here."

"Not in those tunnels, anyway," the geologist said, drawing stares from the other men once more. "Take a look at this." He laid another sheet on top of the rest, its line steady as a ray, with barely even the lazy waves of the men at work as they dug. No spikes, no strange slopes, not even the noise from the collapse. "This is passage ten. I calibrated the seismometer five minutes before everything happened, so I know it's accurate. This tunnel is different; insulated, somehow."

"What are you saying?" the director asked bluntly.

"I'm saying passage ten is still standing. It's our ticket in."

-- --- --

Many miles away, over the swaying grass of a forest clearing, a cloaked figure hovered, his legs crossed in a meditative pose. His green skin contrasted sharply with the purple of his tunic and the white of his cape and turban. His pointed ears twitched, and his eyes jerked open.

What in blazes was _that_? It was a kind of energy he had never felt before, vaguely powerful but very faint. It felt hollow, not like anything living he had ever encountered. The sense was hazy as well; it was like a huge group of almost insignificant powers as opposed to a single small one. Either way, he doubted that he would have even picked it up had he not been meditating. He sighed and closed his eyes again, clearing his thoughts once more. The strange sensation did not return.

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***A/N*** – This is a resurrection of my first fanfic, which was originally published here in January 2003. I have no idea why my Dragon Ball Z spark was suddenly rekindled after so long (for perspective, this fic came out when DBZ had more fanfics than Harry Potter, Twilight was just a time of day, and Naruto and Bleach were being scribbled on the backs of bar napkins instead of the pages of Shonen Jump) but I've found myself going back and polishing this. It was fairly well-received before I took it down, but there were a lot more people browsing this section at the time. Regardless of whether its nostalgia or temporary insanity on my part, I hope you enjoy.


	2. Chapter Two: Life as a Hero

Chapter Two

Life as a Hero

It had not been a good day for the people of Satan City, and that could only mean that it was a busy one for two teenagers whose self-appointed job was to watch over them all. It was all the usual mischief, but that didn't make it any easier. It still meant a lot of calls from the police… and a lot of excuses to go to the restroom.

Once again, the shrill beeping of Videl Satan's watch interrupted the lecture of a teacher at Orange Star High School. Sighing with exasperation, Videl answered the call. "Yes chief, what is it now?"

"_I'm sorry, Videl_," the chief's voice came back, muffled by the small speakers on the wrist phone. "_But we have another holdup, this time at the northern train station_."

"These guys must know finals are in a week," Videl grumbled, rolling her sharp blue eyes in frustration.

The chief's sympathy was evident, even with the background static. "_You know we'd take care of it ourselves if we could, but it's just too risky_._ They've got almost a hundred hostages in the station_," he explained.

"Right," the young woman replied, her gaze steeling with determination at the realization that the lives of a lot of innocent people were far more important than this hour's lecture. She was ahead in this class anyway, thanks in large part to the young man she cast a meaningful glance at now.

Gohan returned the look with an almost imperceptible nod. He rose to his feet, making yet another excuse to get away from the class.

"Who does he think he's fooling anymore?" a young man with long blonde hair mumbled.

"Quiet, Sharpner," the girl next to him hissed.

"Don't worry, Erasa," he whispered casually, leaning back in his chair. "It's been months since the tournament. If I was gonna tell anyone about his big secret, I'd have done it by now. Besides," he added, lowering his voice even further, "if you ask me, I kinda like the idea that the Great Saiyaman and Gold Fighter owes me one."

Erasa just rolled her eyes as the sound of two pairs of footsteps receded into the hallway.

-- --- --

"So, what's up this time?" Gohan asked as the pair jogged through the otherwise empty hallway towards the stairs to the roof.

"Holdup at the north train station," Videl replied. "The chief says about a hundred hostages."

"Oh, piece of cake then," he said with a lopsided grin.

"Easy for you to say, bulletproof," she shot back, the words tempered by a small smile.

The teenage duo rushed onto the roof, each pressing a button on their watches. With a quick flash, they were no longer two high school teenagers; they were the Great Saiyamen. Gohan was now in a black body suit with a green tunic, black sunglasses, and a white bandana with two long trails. Videl was now in a similar outfit, only her body suit was blue, with a teal vest and a light red cape; she also had a white helmet with a blue tinted visor. With a rush of air, the two leapt off the side of the building and sped north.

It was only a minute's flight before they floated down amongst a crowd of police cars. Their feet weren't even on the ground before the police chief ran up to fill them in. "Alright, we've got over a hundred hostages inside. Six men, armed of course. We've got the building surrounded, but they've barricaded the doors."

"No problem, chief. Leave it to us," Gohan, a.k.a. Great Saiyaman, replied. He'd spotted a large skylight on the roof, his favorite entrance.

Videl, a.k.a. Saiyagirl, nodded her agreement. She'd seen the skylight as well. The two teens lifted off again, landing next to the glass dome atop the station.

They surveyed the situation through the glass. The six robbers were spread out through the room, with four of them guarding separate groups of about two dozen hostages each. Another was behind the ticket desk, working intently on one of the computers. The last gunman, apparently the leader of the group, was looking over the shoulder of the one on the computer.

"No time for dramatics on this one," Gohan said, his casual demeanor replaced by calm determination. There was a time and place for his favored showmanship, but this wasn't it.

"On three," Videl said simply. "One."

"Two," Gohan supplied.

"Three!" With a simultaneous leap, the two kicked in the glass and dropped into the station. The gunmen were caught by surprise, not expecting an attack from above. They shot wildly at the falling cloud of glass, but the two Saiyamen were already on the ground and getting to work.

Videl charged two of the men on the back wall, careful not to have any hostages behind her lest the gunmen get off an errant shot. And fortunate she did, as one sent half a dozen bullets well over her head before a knee to his gut sent him to the floor in a heap. The second just stared wide-eyed as she charged, then crumpled with his comrade after a swift disabling chop to the neck.

Gohan headed for the other two gunmen standing near groups of innocents, his form blurring in and out of sight. The two men jerked their weapons back and forth, looking for a shot, until two quick punches sent them out for the count.

The two behind the counter had watched the exchange, which lasted all of five seconds, before the leader snapped to his senses. He fired a long machine gun burst at Videl, who was standing to his right. With hostages to one side, and a wall to her left, the girl had only one way to approach, so she took the only evasive course available. She ran up the wall that led towards the counter, her legs a blur as she charged. But this man's aim was better than his fellows', and even her well-trained speed wasn't enough.

Gohan heard her cry of pain, and his blood turned to ice. With unnatural velocity, he was upon the two remaining robbers. The one at the computer was now cowering on the floor, both hands clamped over his ears against the gunfire. Ignoring him, Gohan shifted towards the threat, but just as he was rearing back for a blow that would have sent the last gunman flying, a flash of blue passed between them. A vicious roundhouse kick to the face sent the shooter crashing through the ticket counter, skidding to a stop amidst a collection of broken wood.

The police, having heard the gunshots, broke through the barricade on the door and rushed inside. They set to apprehending the gunmen, but Gohan saw none of it. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes were wide. Videl was leaning back against the wall, holding her right shoulder, a red stain spreading beneath tunic, suit, and glove. Eyes closed and jaw clenched, her breath was coming in heavy pants through her nose.

"Videl!" he said, his voice thick with concern. He reached out to help her sit down.

She shook her head. Lifting off her helmet with her good arm, she winced at the movement, but did not cry out. "I'm fine," she said, her voice rough but steady.

Gohan didn't look convinced. He looked up to call for one of the paramedics that had rushed in, only to see one already running up to them. He poked and prodded for a few seconds, and pronounced that it was just a graze. "You'll need stitches, miss, but you'll be fine."

It was a bigger relief to Gohan than Videl, it seemed, but as he watched the medic cut away her sleeve to tend the wound, the fight began to play out again before his eyes. A few punches, the ring of gunshots, and the one inescapable conclusion that amazed him more than he could say.

She had beaten him there.

She'd been closer, to be sure, and he had stopped for a tenth of a second to make certain the man on the ground was not a threat. But that could not take anything away from the fact that Videl, this girl who could read him like a book and make him laugh with a look, still surprised him every day with her progression as a fighter. She was strong. She was fast. And where Vegeta might add "for a human" to those observations, damning with faint praise, Gohan could not help but be shocked at just how fast she learned and grew. She was far from lobbing planet-killing Kamehamehas about, but for an eighteen-year-old girl without a drop of Saiyan blood, she was really something.

"Blast it," Videl hissed, wincing as the medic applied a bandage. "I wasn't fast enough."

"You did great, Videl," Gohan comforted. "You got him, right? And all the hostages are fine."

The young woman's face relaxed only a little at the news, frustration with herself still prominent. Her stubbornness and determination were some of her best, if not always most endearing, qualities, but it also led to her being far too hard on herself. Gohan had long experience telling him that the best way was to let her just work it through on her own. Indeed, after standing up and waving away a suggestion to get into an ambulance, her frustration was already subsiding. "I can fly," she said to the nonplussed medic.

With a few parting words to the police chief, the two teens took to the sky, Gohan resisting the urge to offer to carry Videl on the short flight to the hospital.

"You should head back to school, Gohan," she said as they landed on the hospital's helicopter pad. Two doctors were already half-jogging towards them from the elevator; the police chief had evidently called ahead. "It's just a few stitches, and it'll be tough to explain if you don't show up again at all."

He shook his head, his logical senses being overridden by a surprisingly strong urge not to leave her side. "They can live without me, just this once," he said with a halfhearted attempt at a grin.

Videl's eyes narrowed. "Can the sympathy, flyboy."

The remark brought a full-fledged grin to his face, as he rubbed the back of his head in the trademark pose he had inherited from his father. He was relieved when a faint smile curved the corners of Videl's lips in turn.

As he followed behind while the doctors fussed her into the elevator, he couldn't help but remember the feeling in his gut when he had heard her cry of pain in the station. It had been so similar to that day barely six months before, where he had stood in rage as he watched Spopovitch's ruthless attacks at the World Tournament. Even then, he had wished never to experience that feeling again, and today he knew that if she hadn't beaten him there, it might have been more than the ticket counter that had been turned to splinters by his wrath. This last day's effort had reminded him that it was a dangerous life he lived. And prodigious as her talents may be, it was infinitely more so for his friend.

As he walked inside, following as inconspicuously as he could, he contemplated the last six months. The defeat of Majin Buu had meant the end of another stage of his life. His father was back, the Earth was safe again, and all had seemed right with the world.

In the wake of that crisis, he and Videl had grown even closer than he had ever hoped, but always, it seemed, as friends. He had long given up denying, even to himself, that he cared deeply for the girl he spent almost all his waking hours with. Whether it was at school, or fighting crime side-by-side, or just spending time together like the semi-normal teenagers they were, they were all but inseparable. He never tired of being around Videl, and would have been delusional not to see that she enjoyed it just as much.

But what did it all come down to? They lived in a world fraught with danger, and it now seemed that even the seven years before Buu had been an exception to the rule, as opposed to a new trend. Working with Videl to help right the wrongs and prevent the small tragedies in their little corner of the world was a task they both accepted willingly, even eagerly. Still, he knew that there were always greater dangers out there; dangers that even Videl's amazing abilities were no match for. That thought reinforced his determination that nothing, _nothing,_ would ever harm her while he still drew breath. But could he always do that as just a friend?

Was friend even the right word at all? He and Videl were kindred spirits, two people whose strengths and weaknesses softened blended to form completeness in companionship greater than just the sum of their parts. She was his conscience, the voice that taught him justice was more than righting evil on the grandest scale, and he was her compass, a voice without pretense or preconception who judged her only against herself. She was motivation, a fire for self-improvement he had missed most all his life, where he was temperance, proof that smiles and laughter always had a place. She was principled, determined, but stubborn to a fault, where he was easygoing, wise, yet comically naïve. By rights they should have clashed like oil and water, but instead they wove together, an alloy of personality, vices and virtues all.

Such thoughts were deeper than even this eighteen-year-old could go, as much as he had seen and as quickly as he had been forced to grow. All he knew for sure was that when he was with Videl, things just seemed right. The world was a better place when he had her by his side, and he wouldn't give that up for anything.

Gohan sighed inwardly, the turmoil of his thoughts well hidden by the sunglasses. As Videl was ushered back into a treatment area, he was told that he needed to stay in the reception room. He caught the confident smile Videl cast over her shoulder as she gave him a thumbs-up, and he replied in kind.

As the doors swung in and out in slowly smaller arcs, a receptionist walked over. "Sir?" she said, to get his attention. He turned. "Mr. Saiyaman, if you'd like to leave a number or anything, I'm sure we can contact you when she's released. It won't be long, I'm sure, but we understand you're a very busy man."

He shook his head with a brief but friendly smile. "No, that's okay," he said, turning his gaze back to the doors now swinging to a stop. "I'm fine right here."

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***A/N*** - Thanks to all who read the first chapter, which was DBZ for all of a two-paragraph cameo by Piccolo. If anyone was worried by that small dose, I hope this was more to your liking. I won't promise updates every day (some chapters need more editing than others, and they also get longer), but I've always had a soft spot for this story, and want to get it back among the living.

Next chapter: _Having a Blast_


	3. Chapter Three: Having a Blast

Chapter Three

Having a Blast

Tunnel ten may have survived the collapse, but it had taken the teams the better part of two days to clear the rubble and get them back inside. And while that had been going on beneath the mountain, a debate had raged above.

"Let me get this straight. Forty hours after a cave-in, you want us to _blast_ our way through the rest of passage ten?" Foreman Duggin had spent twenty years working in caverns, mines, and excavations the world over, and he had not survived all that, and the collapse two days before, by taking unnecessary risks.

"We're running out of time," Denton Patiens reminded him. "The geologists assure me that if the tunnel could survive the cave in, it is more than strong enough to stand up to anything we can throw at it." As the director of the dig his word was law, but the men he led were hand-picked for their experience and expertise, so he was resolved to hear them out.

Sampel Takiir, the lead geologist, was a small man, slight and spare, and looked as though he wanted nothing better than to hide whenever the director looked his way. "I said it _should_ be stable enough," he clarified weakly. "I can't guarantee anything."

"Nothing is guaranteed except our deadline. We're seven weeks into an eight-week schedule, and even then we promised the sponsors at the West City Museum that we'd be through the caverns within a month." It had been the director alone who had made that boast, in truth, but it would seem petty for the others to point that out. "How deep is tunnel ten?"

"If the full extent of the tunnel is still accessible, we're about halfway to the chamber at the mountain's core," replied the crew chief from the team that had been working in that passage.

The director turned back to Duggin. "Can you make that much progress in a week, even with your heavy gear?"

"No," Duggin admitted, grudgingly.

"How long to make that distance if we blast?"

The demolitions chief considered the charts and maps for a long moment. "Four days. That's if we don't have any more cave-ins."

"We'll have a better chance of that than with any of the other passages, but no promises," said Takiir.

"It's still a tight schedule," the explosives expert cautioned. "And if this tunnel goes, we won't get another shot at it. We could bring down the entire place if we don't do it perfect."

"Doing it right is what we pay you for," the director said flatly. Patiens wasn't about to let this find slip through his fingers. The readings showed some kind of massive hollow at the heart of the mountain where all the passages converged, and all he could imagine was the ancient stronghold of a forgotten civilization, or the burial chamber of some powerful king untouched for thousands of years. The others knew the potential rewards just as well as he did, but what they didn't know was that the director had gotten off of the phone with their sponsor an hour before, having been told that an extension was out of the question. Failure would mean the end of his contract, and with that his company. It was a choice of all or nothing, which made it no choice at all.

The director cast one last look around at the gathered experts, but no more arguments were offered. Finally, he turned to the demolitions chief. "Get it set up."

-- --- --

By the time Videl and Gohan left the hospital, it was an hour too late for them to return to school. She was equipped with fresh bandages and a sling, and had been happy to learn that stitches were not needed for her injury. She was less enthusiastic about the stern orders for at least a week of rest with no training, and especially no crime fighting. The two teens lifted off and headed for a visit to Capsule Corporation, just a short flight away.

They walked right into the laboratory – Bulma was rarely found anywhere else – to see the middle-aged genius hard at work. She was at one of the large computer terminals, wearing a cream colored shirt with a dark green vest and brown pants, one of her myriad sets of casual lab outfits. A pair of careworn brown gloves was placed aside as she worked her nimble fingers over the keyboard.

Gohan breathed an inward sigh of relief that Vegeta wasn't around. Though he shouldn't have been surprised; Bulma's efforts in her lab were matched by Vegeta's time in the gravity chamber. At the thought of Vegeta and the gravity room, an idea struck Gohan. Without a word, he darted off down a side hall.

Bulma spun her chair around when she heard their approach. She saw Gohan ducking away, and would have asked where he was going, but first her gaze drifted over Videl's immobilized right arm. She shook her head, frowning. "Oh, Videl! What happened?"

"Holdup at a train station," the raven-haired girl replied. "Six goons. We got five, but I was too slow to get the last one before he got a good shot off," she added with frustration.

Gohan returned, glancing furtively about like a man expecting an ambush. "Here," he said, holding out a hand towards Videl. She raised her good arm, and he dropped a small green bean into her palm.

Videl popped the small senzu into her mouth and chewed it down. She inhaled sharply as the bean worked its magic. Removing the sling from her arm, she worked the limb around, massaging out some small stiffness in her now-healthy shoulder.

"Now Gohan, where did you get that?" Bulma asked, grinning scandalously.

"Vegeta's stash, _please_ don't tell him!" he hissed, looking just as guilty as he sounded.

"Don't tell me what?" a gruff voice said from the hallway Gohan had just left. The call was followed by the spike-haired Saiyan prince striding into the lab, a towel draped across his shoulders. His customary blue training outfit was pocked with sweat.

Gohan looked like he could have fainted. Videl and Bulma traded a look with stifled giggles.

"And _what_ shouldn't I be told?" Vegeta demanded again, his tone voicing the unspeakable consequences should he not receive an answer.

"Oh, it's, ah, nothing, Vegeta," Gohan said in a would-be casual voice, chuckling nervously and scratching the back of his head. The innocent look never worked on Chi-Chi, and it _definitely_ didn't work on Vegeta.

The Saiyan growled, showing teeth in a look that was far more familiar to his face than a smile. "What have you done now, boy?" he snarled. "It can't be any worse than what the woman's whelp did this morning."

"Oh, I had almost forgotten, Gohan," Bulma said offhandedly, the one-sided snipe at their offspring rolling off her as though she'd never heard it. "Vegeta hasn't been in a good mood today – not that he ever is – since Trunks experimented with the gravity room's settings." Gohan paled even further, and it was all the two ladies in the room could do to not burst out laughing on the spot.

"That brat reversed the settings so badly that the slightest touch sent me bouncing off the walls! By the time I managed to get out of there, I needed a senzu."

Gohan gave an audible gulp at the reference. Vegeta's grin turned feral. "I may not be going to 'high school,' but I care sure add two and two together," the prince said evilly, with a pointed glance at the discarded sling Videl was holding.

"Alright, I admit it!" Gohan said. "I took one of the beans out of your stash. I'm sorry!"

Vegeta's grin softened into something more like cruel amusement. "Don't worry boy, you'll live this time. I still need a punching bag for when your weakling father is too mauled to spar." His sneer widened further as Gohan all but wilted in relief.

"If you two are done, I have something to show you all," Bulma interjected. She turned to Videl, a twinkle in her eye. "It's something new, just came in from one of our research and development labs. I think you might find it useful."

Bulma led the other three down the stairs into another lab in the basement of the huge Capsule Corp. complex, this one essentially a warehouse filled with countless shelves piled with machinery and gadgets. She walked over to a desk in a somewhat clear corner and reached for a container the size of a cigar box. It flipped open, revealing a set of capsules, each stamped with a small label that read "Caution: Experimental Materials." She picked one out, clicked the top button, and tossed it to one of the few bare spots to be found on the floor. After a loud _poof_, the cloud of smoke cleared to reveal a tall rectangular rack with what was apparently a cut of cloth stretched across it.

"It's a breakthrough in micro-fabrics, fresh out of the lab. The material is so fine and woven so dense, it's entirely bulletproof. The composition increases the weight though, so we haven't started marketing it to the police and military forces yet," she explained, "but it shouldn't be anything you can't handle, Videl."

The young woman grinned as Bulma's plan caught on. "That's great, Bulma! How well does it work?"

"I'll show you," Bulma said, picking a new capsule out of a second container. With another click, _poof_, and cloud of smoke, she hefted a large, vicious-looking machine gun. Gohan wondered what else she might have stashed in this room, and decided he'd rather not know.

The woman pointed the gun at the rack and fired off a long burst. The reports echoed through the spacious room, but when she was done shooting, the fabric was totally undamaged, a small pile of spent and noticeably flattened bullets lying on the ground in front of it.

"You're sure you don't just have bad aim?" Vegeta quipped.

Bulma shot her significant other a venomous look as she repacked the gun. "I figure I can make you up a new outfit using this stuff," she said, turning to Videl. "After what happened today, I'm sure you wouldn't mind the added protection. And after all, what better way is there to field test it than letting one of the Great Saiyamen wear it defending the people from danger?" she concluded with a wink.

Videl was looking at the fabric with an impressed grin. Gohan walked over and nudged her with an elbow. "Does this mean I get to call _you_ 'bulletproof' now?" She punched his shoulder and her grin spread even wider.

"Bah," Vegeta scoffed. "Why don't we test these scraps against a real weapon?" He extended his right arm, a ball of white-gold light flickering to life just off of his palm.

"Vegeta—!" Bulma shouted, too late.

A small energy blast leapt off of Vegeta's hand at the rack, the impact and small explosion knocking it over violently. With a metallic clatter, it skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Vegeta strode over towards the fallen sheet of fabric as the other three just stared blankly, their mouths gaping open. "I told you it needed a proper test. Just look, it didn't even stand up to—" The prince stopped mid-sentence, standing over the toppled display. He just stood there in silence. Finally, he reached down and pulled the rack back up.

The fabric was unscathed.

"Now who needs to work on their aim?" Bulma quipped weakly. Vegeta shot her a glance, but soon returned his attention the unmarred plate of cloth.

"Wow, Bulma," Gohan said, finding his voice. "I think this new stuff stops more than bullets."

"You've inherited your father's ability to state the blatantly obvious," Vegeta retorted, the surprise of the moment now wearing off. But his eyes didn't leave the fabric, which he was now studying with an almost clinical interest.

Bulma ignored the banter, and was instead inspecting the fabric for herself. "I think I need to run some more tests," she said, prodding the fabric in the area that the energy blast had struck it.

"Will you want to check this stuff out more before you make up my new suit, Bulma?" Videl asked.

"Oh, no, I should still be able to make you up a new outfit in a day or so," Bulma said as she recapsulized the rack. "Stop by here after school tomorrow and I'll have it ready. Hopefully along with some more answers, if I can get trigger-happy here to help out in some of the tests."

"When do you want to start?" Vegeta replied. Bulma stared at him with surprise, at which the prince gave her a sidelong look. "After all, you might be making more than one suit from this soon enough."

-- --- --

The crew was moving to shelter behind a large concrete barrier as the demolitionists made the final checks on the explosives. The experts came out and gave the all clear, heading behind the wall themselves as the demolitions chief called out the countdown with a megaphone.

"Four… three… two… one…" He plunged the trigger down, and a second later a muffled boom echoed out of the tunnel, followed by a plume of dirt and sand. The deep red of sunset gave the dust cloud a foreboding appearance. Once the last sounds of crashing rock had ended, the surveyors worked their way back into the tunnel to check the results of their efforts. They emerged a few minutes later and had a brief conversation with the chief, but their smiles told the story to the rest of them.

"Just as we planned," the chief reported when he walked back over. "We clear the rubble, and with a few more good blasts we'll be inside the chamber."

"You're sure this won't damage anything inside the cavern?" the director asked worriedly.

"Nothing worse than a few loose pebbles rattling around. To be safe, we can get within a few feet then dig the rest. Assuming, of course, the braces hold up." The plan was to brace the passage as thoroughly as they could without slowing themselves down. With the proven instability of the cave network, it seemed prudent not to take any chances.

The director nodded. "How long?"

"The tunnel held up better than we could have hoped. The hardest part is going to be removing the debris," he said. "Three days, maybe four, and you'll be seeing how rich we're gonna be."

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***A/N*** - Thanks to all who read and review!

Next chapter: _Rock and Phantoms_


	4. Chapter Four: Rock and Phantoms

Chapter Four

Rock and Phantoms

Bulma was true to her word. After an uneventful day – though Gohan hoped the chief hadn't simply abstained from calling out of regret for Videl's injury the day before – the two teens walked into Capsule Corp. to see the energetic scientist waiting for them in her lab. Vegeta was there as well, seemingly out of place at one of the computer stations, but his fingers were flying across the keyboard with speed and precision that could rival Bulma.

"Right on time, you two," the inventor greeted cheerfully. She brought out a watch from her pocket, almost identical to the one Videl already had from her.

"It's got your new outfit, all tailored and ready. This watch also has a better receiver and speakers for the link with police HQ. Your helmet has also been updated with new firmware and a few added gadgets that might be useful," she concluded. Not one for half measures was Bulma Briefs.

Videl clipped the new watch onto her wrist and handed the old one back. "Thanks a lot, Bulma." The raven-haired girl pressed the side button to activate the watch, and with a brief flash her outfit was replaced with her Saiyagirl costume. "I don't even notice the extra weight," she said, remembering Bulma's description of the new fabric from the previous day as she looked over the new suit.

"Didn't think you would," Bulma replied. "But now, the material is totally bulletproof, and, thanks to Mr. Personality over there," she said, jerking her head towards the sullen Saiyan in the corner, "we've determined that it's quite adept at reflecting energy blasts as well. Not that you need _that_ for fighting common criminals, of course."

"If you ask me, _nothing_ is worth looking like that," Vegeta said, without turning around.

Both women shot the Saiyan prince an automatic vicious glance. Gohan winced; he didn't even like those looks when he wasn't the target. Vegeta, however, was still typing away smugly. His banter with Bulma had become one of the mainstays of their relationship, and served as some inverted form of sweet-talk for the two. Videl, however, still chafed a bit when she was brought into the jokes. It got on Gohan's nerves as well, though even he didn't dare say anything to Vegeta. After all, the Saiyan prince's caustic wit was as permanent as Goku's childlike good humor.

"The bodysuit definitely feels different, though," Videl was saying. Her brow was furrowed as she flexed her arms and legs, trying a few punches and kicks as she got a feel for her new uniform.

Bulma looked thoughtful, cradling her chin in one hand. "I was worried about that. With the added density, the material might restrict your movement."

"It's not that bad. A little stiff, maybe, but nothing I can't get used to. It's better than a ricochet through the arm."

Bulma laughed. "Well, even with that suit, dodging bullets is still better than taking them."

"Yeah," Videl replied, activating the watch again to replace the costume with her more comfortable, and certainly less vocal, pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt.

Vegeta finished his business with the computer and walked over. "I trust you'll be able to design something more appropriate than that clown suit for me," he growled to Bulma.

"Hrmph. Just for that, I'll be sure to order an outfit in _pink_ for you. After all, that color was so nice on you that day that Goku came back from his trip to Yardrat."

Vegeta's left eyebrow twitched. "Actually, I was thinking something in the same color as your hair," he said evenly.

"Really?"

"Of course. Wearing something like that would send any enemy running in terror."

Gohan thought the slap that followed might actually have stung.

-- --- --

After three days and three times that many rounds of set, detonate, and clear, luck had stayed with them. The tunnel was still standing.

"All right boys, let's get digging!" Foreman Duggin called. By now, any doubts about the wisdom of their plan had been washed away by the proximity of their goal. The workers set at the remaining few feet of rock with rabid enthusiasm, the thoughts of discovery and wealth driving them on. As they chipped away bit by bit, Director Patiens could almost liken the clinks of the picks to the clinks of coins, and with every inch of rock they went through, his smile widened. He had joined them for this, the final push into the cavern. He wanted to be here when they made history, and he could almost see the wondrous discoveries they were bound to make.

"Hey! I'm breakin' through here!" one of the workers called. With a powerful swing, the edge of the pick impacted the rock and then bit in deeply, a sure sign of the stone tunnel's end and the open chamber beyond. He removed the pick to a sudden rush of air past them into the hole, which lasted almost a minute. The foreman and director traded glances, then the former shrugged. The chamber had been closed off for countless years, who knew what had happened in that time? At least this meant the air inside wouldn't be toxic.

"Alright boys, let's make ourselves a door!"

Their excitement redoubled, the crew hacked at the rock like children tearing at the wrappings of a long-anticipated gift. Soon enough, they opened a hole big enough for a large man to walk through.

"Stand aside!" Patiens called, jostling through the crowd for a first look at their find. He reached the hole, turned on a powerful hand lamp, and looked through into the chamber beyond.

The room was cavernous, its edges vanishing into gloom beyond the reach of the light in Patiens' hand. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like a thousand glinting teeth, their mineral deposits shimmering as the light passed over them. As more men climbed through the opening and added to the cast of flashlights, more features began to take shape. The chamber was spherical, and organized into five distinct tiers. Like rows of seating at a stadium, four concentric platforms ringed the wall, with the tunnel opening onto the plane of the uppermost. The walls along each level were lined with countless alcoves. Sets of stairs, worn smooth by time, were spaced evenly to provide access between each stage.

The crew's excitement was palpable, but the men grew quiet as they came inside. Whispering ceased and breaths became hushed, for they stood amongst the dead. Every alcove on every level held a stone sarcophagus.

They began to spread out, stepping lightly through the chamber, and more details became visible. The tombs had two distinct styles, which became evident almost at once. The first and third levels were crafted of humble rock, rough and unadorned. They appeared to be carved from the same white sandstone that composed the entire chamber. The second and fourth tiers were far different, with coffins chiseled from a dozen different minerals. Onyx and obsidian, ebony and jet, they drank the light like thirsty beasts, the tombs all made of black.

Eyes so wide they were glittering like the niter on the walls, Director Patiens headed at once for the nearest set of steps, and from there straight towards the nearest tomb. It was the best he could have hoped for, after two months of setbacks and frustration. It was the find that would send him to a life of fame and fortune, as the leader of this great expedition. It was all he had dreamed of, and more. It was—

"Empty!" the director spluttered. As he stared down into the open sarcophagus, hope turned to panic in his eyes.

"You sound disappointed," said Foreman Duggin, and the note of disgust in his voice was plain.

"Where is the gold? The jewels?" Patiens cried, running from coffin to coffin. None of them were lidded, though all had stones shaped to cover them set beside. "Where are the artifacts, the sculptures? Where is all the _treasure_? Where, where, where!?"

"Where are the bones?" The whisper from Granny cut through the director's wails, and drew a few looks from among the more morbid men of the crew. He was right, though. It was not only Patiens' lamented valuables missing from the tombs, each and every one of the stone enclosures was unsealed, open, and empty.

Then someone saw the floor.

"Gods be good!" Takiir swore. He was pointing his flashlight at the lowest level of the chamber, the fifth tier which stretched beneath them across the cavern. The soft-spoken geologist's curse brought more light and eyes to bear, and they all saw at once what the tombs had originally drawn them away from. The bottom of the hollow was filled with skeletons.

However long they had been there, most of the bones had gone to dust, but there was enough left to know what they were, and that there had been many of them. They were lined along the outer edge, where the wall of the lowest platform was set six feet above the chamber floor.

"There must be hundreds of them," Duggin breathed. It would have been impossible to say for sure without exhaustive and detailed research, but no one would disagree with his estimate. You could not even tell where one corpse ended and another began, but the entire edge of the lowest tier was ringed with bones, bleached white with age.

"What's that?" another worker asked. His lamp was trained on the very center of the lower level, where a plinth stood, raised from the dust and dirt and stone. Something on it caught the light, and glimmered faintly.

There were only two stairways down to that level from the others, set at opposite ends of the cavern. Most of the crew did not move, unsettled by the sight of disinterred remains. Some men started making their way towards whichever set of steps was closest, and descended towards the lower level. Duggin reached the bottom first, and stepped gingerly around the bones. As he got closer to the podium, he saw what had caught the light. He came up short, and stared, then began to inch closer, one shuffling step at a time, like a man caught in a daze. Not from shock, or fear, or caution, but for wonder.

Upon the pedestal sat an orb. It was no larger than a fist, and at first it looked indistinguishable from the stone of the dais. But where it caught the light, the smooth surface seemed to shift, there black, now white, in twisting whorls of color as unblemished as they were distinct. The white was as pure as driven snow, and the black was as deep as a starless night. Here and there along their borders might have been patches of grey, but they seemed to twist and vanish as though they were no more than a trick of the light.

The men stared at it, transfixed. It even seemed as if the surface of the orb was slowly moving, as though some unseen hand were turning it upon its seat. Like a crystal ball filled with colored clouds, it never seemed to be still.

After what seemed like an eternity of staring into the discordant mists, Director Patiens shouldered in amongst them. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was the words died in his throat sight of the orb. After one long, slow blink, he reached out towards it. The world seemed to move in slow motion as his fingertips inched closer. Finally, he touched it.

His mind seemed to explode with color, so bright that for an instant he was blind. Then the colors became shapes, and the shapes became things, a million thoughts and a million images, flashing past his eyes faster than he could hope to comprehend. He saw the familiar faces of people he knew he'd never met, and a blinding tour of recognizable places he knew he had never seen. His thoughts whipped about as though caught in a sudden storm, a mental tempest of plains, hills, mountains, valleys, rivers, roads, cities, homes, families, people, faces, and eyes, eyes, _the eyes_! He saw them looking back at him, and he knew. He knew them, and they knew him, and both knew he did not belong. The eyes were staring, and he heard them shouting, and he saw them looking down, until suddenly they were the eyes of his crew, the men with him beneath the mountain, in the cavern with the tombs. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized that he was lying on the floor, held down in the dirt by firm hands.

"Wha—who—where?"

The men around him relaxed, letting out sighs of relief. "Good to have you back, boss," Foreman Duggin said. "You had us worried."

"But I… I was reaching… And then… Then I saw… I just touched it…" Patiens rambled.

"Yeah… and you started screaming. We pulled you away, but you were struggling, thrashing around. You nearly knocked Granny out cold with a kick, and we had to hold you down to keep you from hurting yourself."

"I... I don't… There's nothing, not any of it. Just... a feeling… like I was... It was…" he shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, you're fine now sir. Let's get you back outside." The director seemed on the verge of protesting when the foreman raised a hand to stop him. "We'll get something rigged to get that orb out of here… without anyone else touching it. We've gotten this far, there's no sense leaving empty handed, and it looks to be the only thing small enough to move just yet."

Patiens nodded. All of a sudden he felt exhausted, and for some reason so very… sad. He let two of the workers help him up, leaning heavily on their shoulders as they led him out of the chamber.

The remaining crewmen brought in a pair of metal tubes and a heavy burlap sheet, and after a bit of careful prodding managed to get the orb off the pedestal, wrapped, and rigged into a makeshift litter. Two men carried it as gingerly as a wounded man, or perhaps some incredibly sensitive explosives. They held it from the very edges of the poles, and no one walked beside it, hesitant to get anywhere near the wrapped orb lest they suffer the same frightening experience of their director.

A proper historical find would not have been moved so quickly, but this dig was not so much an expedition as it was an excavation. They were interested in history and antiquities only so far as what would serve their sponsors best on display in a museum. The workers might have been appalled at what was little better than a case of grave robbing in the name of science, had any of the men been hired to be considerate of such things. But none of them had been, and so to them it was just a job well done. If any of their consciences were troubled, they would tell themselves that no one was like to benefit from anything buried and forgotten, and so why not take what they found to where it could be studied and appreciated and seen by children on their school field trips?

Though there were archaeologists within the crew, their job was not examination or preservation of finds, but instead to ensure their proper care and transport. After packaging the orb inside a wooden crate crammed with generous amounts of straw and shredded paper, it was loaded into a pickup truck and sent off into the arid night. The miners and geologists watched the truck drive off with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, wondering what it was they had discovered in the depths of the Earth.

Not one of them considered that sometimes, such things are best left alone.

-- --- --

In the same forest clearing, the same cloaked figure jerked out of his meditation. He had felt it again, that strange sense of distant _ki_. The same hollow feeling, but it had been stronger this time. Not greatly so, but enough that now he was sure that it had not been a single power, but instead many small ones. So… unnatural. It was as if, for the briefest of moments, innumerable new people had come alive, only to vanish again without a trace.

Once was an oddity. Twice was a mystery… perhaps even a concern. With this little blue planet, one could never be too careful. With a soft rustle of fabric the figure rose into the night sky, flying off to have a chat with a boy whose name was god.

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***A/N*** - Sorry this one took so long. I had to re-write quite a bit of it, where some of the smaller changes from earlier chapters began to converge again. I think it's better for it, in the end.

Oh, and the last paragraph has a bit of poetic license. Just in case anyone is confused, "Kami" means "god" in English, and Piccolo is on his way to Dende.

Next chapter: _Old Shark, New Teeth_


	5. Chapter Five: Old Shark, New Teeth

Chapter Five

Old Shark, New Teeth

A jagged tally of days was etched into the pitted stone walls. The room they enclosed was relatively comfortable, as prison cells went, situated in the corner of the top level of the cell block. There were two small, barred windows on the outer walls of the room that had been dubbed the "corner suite." It was fairly spacious as well, but not when considering the size of the occupant. He was a massive man, over seven feet tall, and built like a bulldozer. The man's physique had only improved with time spent in Rock Mountain Penitentiary, with little to occupy free time inside the maximum-security prison aside from the expensive weight room, provided so willingly by the taxpayers to keep the felons happy in their cages. The man had spent six months in this place, as the tally on the wall told. Six agonizing, tormenting, hideous months since that day when his world had been broken by two rotten, upstart teenagers… who got lucky. That was the only explanation.

None save himself knew his name. He went by "The Boss," a moniker that had stuck easily in prison. His imposing form brooked no argument from even the most vicious inmates. He let the name be a spite-filled reminder of what he had enjoyed "on the outside," as most prisoners liked to call it, back when he was the leader of one of the most powerful crime syndicates this side of the Mafia.

Moving operations to Satan City had seemed like such a perfect idea at the time: a town ripe for the taking, long avoided by major syndicates due to the resident boisterous showboat known the world over as the Savior of the Planet, who had given the city its name. The Boss had no doubts in his mind that Hercule Satan was nothing but a pathetic showoff, full of more hot air than muscle. All the more infuriating was that his attempt to prove it had landed him here.

He had never gotten his hands on Hercule, the bloated buffoon whose defeat would have opened for him every door in the black depths of the criminal underworld. He would have had his choice of henchmen, the support of every shadow corporation and money launderer, and the custom of any black market dealer who had ever sold so much as a pocket knife. All of that and more would have been his… if it wasn't for Hercule's daughter. The memories of the lost opportunity stung more than the vaguely remembered punches that had brought about his fall, delivered by that filthy, righteous twerp, Videl Satan, so-called "defender of the people." The humiliation of it all still set his blood to boiling. His fists clenched at the memories, knuckles whitening with the bone-crushing strength of his massive hands.

With a silent burst of rage, he lashed out, elbowing the wall behind him. It added to a large number of small craters in the thick concrete of the corner suite. The guards had long given up on stopping his outbursts. Better the wall than an inmate; it was less paperwork that way.

Grating his teeth, the hulk leaned forward. With a bare fingernail he etched another tally mark into the wall, and then laid back into his bed for another night of restless sleep.

-- --- --

Not far from the prison, a pickup truck was bouncing along the rough mountain road, the path ahead lit faintly by the headlights and a clear, star-filled night sky. The rough road, if it could even be called that, jostled the driver and passenger, as well as the cargo in the back. The constant thud of the wooden crate on the bed of the truck was the loudest sound, despite the thick straps that held it down. The men passed the drive in silence, occupied with their own inner thoughts on the mystery rattling around behind them. They had each seen their share of odd happenings in their field of work, but the sight and sound of the director of the dig writhing on the rocky floor of the cavern after touching the orb made for a disconcerting memory.

Behind them, inside the strong wood and under the thick burlap no one had cared to touch in order to remove, the mysterious orb was sitting. There out of sight, a single tiny point on the surface was smoking faintly, as if acid were eating away at the rock. The point coincided with where the director had touched it earlier, ever so briefly.

It had been enough.

Like a thin wisp of smoke, the formless vapors slowly coalesced as they exited the orb. The gaseous emanation permeated the burlap, then the wooden crate, its seeping exit impossible to notice in the faint starlight as the truck drove on. Instead of dissipating like true smoke, the vapors clung together, hovering over the road as the faint sounds of the pickup receded down the mountain path. Ignorant of the soft wind that blew around it, the wisp hung there, swirling, as if observing its surroundings.

Absent a mind, the vapor had no strictly conscious thoughts. Only instinct was left to it, if there was anything at all. It moved away. It knew its time was short, that this world was not a home to what it was. As if through some ancient magnetism, it was drawn. Not by gravity, or the wind, or sight, or sound… but strength. The presence of life drew it closer, and there was one presence that rose above the rest. The mist moved faster now, driven by urgency, or eagerness, or perhaps just fate. It ignored the fences, the searchlights, even the walls. It did not ignore its target. Without thinking about how, without knowing what would really happen, it descended slowly… and entered.

-- --- --

The Boss jerked awake. His vision was clouded, as if by the cigar smoke around a card table. Even as memories of lost times playing poker with his gang began to work their way forward, they were replaced by new thoughts, alien thoughts. It was as if his memories were receiving some odd addition, full of places and faces he'd never seen before, but even as he mulled over that strange sensation, it was as if the memories he saw were becoming more familiar. It was the most peculiar thought; was he remembering things he had forgotten, or was he forgetting that he had not remembered? Even as he tried to decide, the memories became unimportant, as if they had always been there. Half of him was wondering what in the world he was seeing, while the other half was alight with ecstasy as if awakening from an impossibly long slumber. And one half was growing stronger.

The Boss shook his head, then gazed around the darkened room. His expression was a curious mix, as if half of him were seeing his surroundings for the first time.

Through the confusion, he dumbly wondered what was wrong with him.

_**There's nothing wrong**_, a different voice answered. It was a voice that he had never heard before. Or had he? The voice was not his own, the one he heard when he spoke. Or was it? _**Be calm**_, it said. _**Trust me. I said there's nothing wrong.**_ _**In fact, there's something very right**_.

_Who da hell are you?_ he thought, his gruff Germanic accent still present with his inner voice. His internal monologue had become an internal dialogue, but knowing that he himself was still in there was somehow reassuring.

_**Consider me a new**_… he felt his own thoughts poring over a choice of words. _**Roommate. That fits as well as anything**_.

_I must be going crazy. Or dreaming_.

_**Oh, not the first. And definitely not the second**__,_ the other voice replied._** I don't know for sure myself, to be honest. I'm just as confused as you are. The last thing I remember was a wall of light…**__** and then darkness. I remember quite a lot of that. If you can remember blank, empty, total blackness, anyway.**_

_Vot are you babbling about?_ he thought, anger rising._ Just get out of my head!_

_**I don't know how**__, _the voice replied._** And I'm not sure I would even if I could. It's been dark for a very, very long time, you see, and I'm not about to give up a chance to feel alive again**__._ The mental tone changed, to something with a chilling menace behind it. _**I can work with you while I'm in here, or I could just take over for myself. I don't know why, or how… I just know I **_**can**_**. Somehow I don't think that would be very pleasant for you. The choice is in your hands.**_

Something in that mental tenor had frightened the Boss to the core. Somehow, he knew, however crazy he thought himself to be, that this voice wasn't kidding.

_**That's better**_, it replied.

_Fine zen, I'll play along_, he thought, a small part of him incredulous at the thought of humoring his own delusion.

_**Glad to hear it. Now, how about we do something to get rid of those nagging doubts? We should get out of this place and stretch our legs… It seems there's still a great wide world outside.**_

Before he could ask himself a question about what the other voice meant, he felt another surge of memories. Ideas, experiences, sensations, all pouring forth like a flood. It was an infusion of experiences, blending seamlessly with what was once his own mind. When the rush of thought stopped, he felt like he had just lived a second lifetime in a span of seconds. Something else dawned on him as well.

Still sitting on his bed, he extended his right arm towards one of the outer walls. As though he was performing an act he had been capable of all his life, a bright ball of light leapt from his hand and incinerated the thick stone barrier.

Part of him was astounded at what he'd just done, and the other part of him was feeling like a good maniacal laugh. The Boss wasn't sure which half thought which. He stood and walked to the gaping hole in his cell.

As he stared at the clear dark night now visible through the jagged opening, the Boss felt his own mind drawing on an aphorism from one of the old movies the prison's small theater seemed to enjoy showing. _**This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship**__._

He found himself leaping into the air, but he did not fall. He flew high into the sky, away from the prison, and the echoes of the alarm sirens fading slowly into the night.

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***A/N* **- Sorry for the wait, I got sidetracked by some other projects.

Next chapter: _Thunder from the Horizon_


	6. Chapter Six: Thunder from the Horizon

Chapter Six

Thunder from the Horizon

His cape rustled as he came to a landing upon the Lookout, the faintest hints of a late spring dawn beginning to mark the eastern sky. He began walking towards the palace set atop the giant bowl-shaped structure, but by then he noticed the welcoming committee already coming through the doorway.

"Piccolo," the other green skinned figure nodded. He was wearing a simple robe with a blue cloak, and holding a staff he didn't require in the least. He was flanked by a short, rotund man. Friendly as ever, Mr. Popo stood by, his face set with a smile that rarely departed during the peaceful days spent tending the grounds of the Lookout.

"Dende," the elder Namek replied, nodding his greetings to Mr. Popo as well.

"Something is stirring below," the young guardian said, striding out towards the edge of the Lookout to gaze down upon the world he oversaw.

Piccolo moved into step beside him. "I've sensed it too."

"I know of what you've sensed," Dende said, glancing up. "I fear it is only the thunder from the horizon of the storm that is brewing."

A short pause. "I liked you better before you learned to speak in metaphor, kid," Piccolo replied. There was the hint of a smile in his voice, if not on his face.

"I had an excellent teacher," the young Namek said, with his own small grin. "In both being a guardian, and talking like one."

Piccolo gave a rough chuckle, then moved back to the matter at hand. "Whatever I've been sensing, it's something I've never felt before."

"Neither have I," Dende replied. His gaze hardened into a concerned grimace, but his voice stayed even. "That worries me."

"I don't have time to hold your hand, kid," Piccolo said gruffly. "I may only be half Kami, but half is more than none. Out with it."

Dende didn't look at him as they reached the edge of the white-tiled floor, giving way to the view of a land splashed with a sunrise far below. "I've been on Earth almost a decade now. That's more than half my life I've spent here, but this world is still a mystery to me, in ways that Namek never was."

"Don't expect that to change. It never has for me," Piccolo admitted. "Where I came from is just vague memories, and this place is my home… but that doesn't mean I understand it."

"There are secrets this world holds, secrets from before either of us came here. Before even what is now the human race was here," the guardian said. "How do we protect ourselves against things like that, against the things that no one remembers?"

"We keep our eyes and ears open. This place has been through a lot, and it's still here. We keep surviving, and we remember, and we learn."

"…and we wait for Goku to pull something out of his sleeve."

Piccolo snorted. "That, too."

A long silence followed, and the two watched the clouds pass below, above the world that was not theirs, though they both protected it. "I've been looking at the Journal," Dende ventured.

One hairless green eyebrow crept upwards. "That's some heavy reading."

"You're not kidding. I'm pretty sure several of the past Guardians had nothing better to do than write about… well, nothing. It never ceases to amaze me how many pages nothing can fill."

"I can't even remember how many years Kami spent up here, and he never got all the way through the Guardians' Journal."

"Something about what I've been sensing took me back to the beginning."

Piccolo frowned. "Somehow I know you don't mean the first accounts. You mean the first page."

Dende's smile was sheepish. "You know me too well."

The elder Namek harrumphed. "If you're bored enough to stare at scribblings, you should get out for a while. This place is rotting your brain."

"What can I say, it's fascinating."

Piccolo rolled his eyes. "Dead men's writings in a dead language, and you call it fascinating. It's bad enough reading the 'dear diary' entries of every ponderous greybeard who ever called himself the Guardian, but to actually go back to when they didn't even use a writing style that anyone knows how to read?"

The young Guardian shrugged. "It reminds me that history is bigger than we are. That even those who try to remember don't always succeed. That even some things that should never be forgotten, can be, no matter how hard you try."

Piccolo crossed his arms. "It's just a strange energy sense," he groused. "Even for this place, that doesn't mean the end of the world is coming."

"I'm not so sure."

The tall Namek actually laughed aloud at that. "Oh, now I'm positive: this place is rotting your brain. You know, kid, sometimes even the things we think are important and should never be forgotten are, not because of time or fate or history, but because eventually, someone realizes you can stop worrying and move on. Sometimes, it's really not that bad."

"Even on Earth?"

"_Especially_ on Earth. There are only so many planet-killing catastrophes you can try to keep track of at once. Warrior princes, intergalactic overlords, mad scientists, ancient universe-annihilating evils… Besides, so long as we keep you standing, a fix is just a wish away."

"I'm flattered that you'd still think of me, amidst all that."

Piccolo gave him a sidelong look, and there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes. "Whoever said I did? I'm not the Guardian anymore, kid. I leave all the fun stuff to you."

-- --- --

"Finally, a weekend! A little peace and quiet," Gohan sighed as he walked out the doors of Orange Star High School. A warm sun and cloudless sky hinted at the approach of summer.

"Speak for yourself," Sharpner moaned from a step behind him. His backpack was crammed to the breaking point with books and binders, and even his well-muscled back was bowed with the weight. "Some of us actually need to _study_ for finals."

"You worry too much, Sharpner," Erasa chimed in. Her cheery voice was strained by her own massive load of books. "At least we can get help with studying from the smartest kid in the school," she said, winking at Gohan.

The young man laughed. "You know me, always glad to help out."

Quick footsteps caught up with the three as the last of their group joined them. Her backpack was laden just as heavily as the others, but she had it draped with a single strap over her left shoulder. "Did I hear something about studying?" Videl asked, brushing a lock of her short hair behind an ear.

"Yeah," Sharpner replied, boggling at her effortless gait. Ever the egotist, he straightened himself up, but still kept both back straps firmly about his shoulders. "Personal lessons from the Professor himself."

"Great! How about my place, tomorrow at noon?" she offered. The Satan Mansion had plenty of space to stretch out and get comfortable while they pored over endless piles of books, not to mention the fact that the staff were more than happy to provide refreshments at a snap.

"We'll be there," Erasa replied for herself and Sharpner.

"No prob," Gohan agreed, nodding.

The four walked towards the school parking lot, Erasa beginning to pant from the strain of her heavy load. Gohan gentlemanly offered to carry it for her, tossing the bag over his spare shoulder to hang beside his own. Sharpner's eyes widened. Even knowing at least some of the truth behind Gohan still didn't keep back the surprise at the casual displays of strength. Erasa was too busy rubbing life back into her arms to take much notice.

Just as they reached the parking lot, Videl's watch beeped. "You're kidding!" she exclaimed. Shifting her bag, she brought up her left wrist and hit the receiver. "Yes chief, what is it?"

"_Don't worry Videl, no emergencies at the moment_," the chief's voice replied, loud and clear.

The young woman's brow knitted. "You're not one to make social calls, chief. What's up?"

"_Just a heads up for you is all. We received a report early this morning from the Rock Mountain Penitentiary. It appears that the leader of the Red Shark Gang escaped late last night. Seeing as you were the one to put him where he was, they called us to pass along the info just so you'd be aware_."

Gohan's eyes narrowed. He remembered that day outside City Hall quite clearly. Holding the Mayor at knifepoint – and with a whole lot of other firepower as well, as it turned out – the Red Shark Gang had attempted to call out Hercule for a fight with their leader. Though he was an imposing figure to be sure, the hulk of a man had been dispatched by Videl with little real effort. It had been the first time Gohan realized how strong Videl truly was. After six months of learning the ropes of energy control, flight, and _ki_ detection, along with her usual training, it almost made Gohan laugh out loud to think of that big oaf challenging her again. A sudden spike of confusion in Videl's speech jerked him back to the present.

"Run that by me again, chief?"

"_Well, the warden said that some sort of explosive was used to destroy the wall to his cell, but they've got no idea how he got out after that. No tracks, no trail the search parties and dogs could find, no trace of him at all. It's like he just vanished after he got out of his cell_."

Something about that set the hairs on the back of Gohan's neck to standing. Normal prisoners didn't just disappear after someone blew out the walls to their cell. He assumed it had been some of the leader's old Red Shark buddies behind the breakout, but how could they get him out afterwards without leaving a trace? An aircraft would have been spotted – police forces weren't _that_ incompetent – so how else could he have gotten away unseen?

"All right, thanks for the heads-up, chief."

"_Right, Videl. Good luck with your finals_." A soft click came over the small speakers as the chief hung up.

"Hey, Gohan, those bags slowing you down or something?" Sharpner called.

Gohan jerked, and he noticed that, lost in his thoughts, he had lagged several paces behind. With a quick jog, he caught up again, chuckling. "Nah, just thinking."

"You? Think? Never." Sharpner aimed a friendly elbow at the other boy's ribs. It might have had more noticeable effect against the hull of an aircraft carrier, though the boy chose not to notice.

They shared a laugh, Gohan's thoughts returning to more mundane matters of schoolwork and a fast approaching summer vacation. How nice would it be to share a long, peaceful summer with real friends, like a normal kid his age?

-- --- --

Another day was ending, the red-gold hue of sunset washing through the empty gaps and occasional intact window of the abandoned warehouse. The city had dozens of derelict buildings, but this particular one was inhabited by a dispirited and ragged group of thugs and other lowlifes. They were all that was left of the Red Shark Gang.

Most of the men dozed on whatever was comfortable, be it a scavenged mattress or a pile of crates. A guard at the door leaned against the wall, dozing, and none of the others had the care to tell him to stay alert. The Red Sharks were a pitiful bunch, a shadow of their former illicit glory, but they were still more than a match for any street gang stupid enough to try and give them trouble.

The sound of a booming impact on the metal door sent them all tumbling into alertness, the door guard grabbing his gun and looking around wildly before he recovered his drowsy senses. The sound came again, louder this time, and the door itself shook on its hinges. That sent a chilling thought through several of the men's heads, thinking that the police were breaking in to shut them all away for good.

A third and final blow sent the door itself crashing down, and the men scrambled for cover, training whatever weapons that were at hand on the door. A single massive figure took a step inside.

"Is that any vay to treat your old Boss ven he knocks?" a booming voice called in a familiar accent. A moment of stunned silence was followed by a veritable eruption of cheers as the men all rushed up in greeting.

"Boss! You're back!" they called, swarming their returned leader.

"Yah boys, da Boss is back in town," he said, an evil smile spreading. "And I've already got us a plan to get back to vork." The prospect of new action lit up their greedy faces. "Da Red Shark Gang is back in business!"

The cheers continued, and the celebrations only got better as the Boss carefully laid out his plan. Starting tomorrow, they were going to make this city theirs all over again.

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***A/N* -** One thing I've always noticed with this story was the slow development of the action. After chapter two there is a definite lull, as some readers have begun to notice. It does pick up - and soon, I promise - but I intentionally avoided creating a new action set piece during my edit. I just felt the story didn't need one... and I'm also trying to avoid _major _revisions, both to keep updates coming more steadily, and to avoid continuity errors. Anyways, all I'm trying to say is sorry if the plot seems to have gotten a little slow.

And though it won't help me plead my case any...

Next chapter: _The Calm_

Would it help if I said that in a _really _dramatic voice?


	7. Chapter Seven: The Calm

**Chapter Seven**

**The Calm**

The sounds of battle rumbled through the valley, though that was nothing new for this particular range of mountains. Echoing slaps of flesh upon flesh rapped like gunfire through the fresh morning breeze. Above the sounds rose a call that brought an immediate halt to the spar.

"Gotennnn! Gokuuuu! Breakfast!"

"Great! My favorite time of the day!" The elder Saiyan floated to the ground, hustling towards the source of the call, all other thoughts expelled at the promise of an impending meal. Dropping down beside him, matching each of his father's strides with two of his own, might well have been a mirror image that showed the past, right down to the wildly spiking hair. Father and youngest son hustled towards the source of food, opening the door of the house to the greeting scent of a delicious meal.

The house they sat down in was larger than it had been six months ago, in fact almost twice as big. Despite Chi-Chi's disappointment at the time, the runner-up's prize money Goten had won in the junior division of the last World Tournament had proven more than enough for the family's fairly modest needs. There had even been enough left over, after setting aside the hefty sum reserved as the grocery budget, to purchase the materials needed for a comfortable addition to the house Goku had first built with his own hands almost twenty years ago. The kitchen was expanded (for several reasons), and Gohan and Goten now each had rooms of their own. Not that the two brothers spent any less time together than before, but Gohan had been grateful for the occasional chance at privacy.

The older boy walked in now to join the rest of his family, stretching with a morning yawn. Gohan had taken to sleeping in on Saturdays (relatively speaking; it was just after nine o'clock) to give Goku and Goten an extra chance to train as a pair. The two had formed an immediate bond after Goku's return to the living, with their personalities so similar that they were more like twins than father and son. Gohan was happy to see them getting along so well, though considering Goten's positive outlook on life, he shouldn't have expected something as trivial as seven years without a father to get in their way.

"Good morning sweetie," Chi-Chi said pleasantly. Her greeting to her husband and youngest son was to place ample servings on their plates, which were devoured with customary rapidity. Gohan, whose table manners far outshone his parent and sibling's, gave his mother a smile before setting at his own meal. Eating more politely didn't mean eating any less.

"So, Gohan, any plans for the weekend? I know you have finals next week."

"Yeah, mom," he replied between bites. "I'm heading over to Videl's this afternoon to study with her, Erasa, and Sharpner."

"I'm so glad to see you spend time with your friends," Chi-Chi doted. "Especially Videl. Such a wonderful girl."

Gohan braced himself, but the expected matrimonial discourse was thankfully absent for once.

The family ate with only the usual sounds of Saiyan consumption for a while. After a final, contented belch, Goku leaned back in his chair. "I'm stuffed! That was delicious, as always, Chi-Chi."

"Great breakfast, mom," Gohan seconded, finished as well.

Goten, engrossed in yet another bowl of cereal, was still going strong.

"Hey, sport," Gohan said, "you gonna save any for later?"

Goten crammed down another mouthful and grinned. "I need my strength! Dad is taking me to see Trunks, and I wanna beat him today!"

Goku chuckled. "Just don't tell him how much you ate, or he'll punch you right in the gut! I'm sure Vegeta taught him that one."

"I guess Goten's not the only one scheduled for a workout?" Gohan asked.

"Nope. No rest for the weary, no matter how many times I've died and come back!" Even Chi-Chi laughed. Six months as a complete family had done wonders for her, seeming to drain away the cares and worries seven years as a single mother had bought her. It was beyond a doubt that she was as happy as she had ever been, and being able to laugh at Goku's lighthearted jokes over his absence was full testament to her resilience.

Goten finally placed his last empty bowl on the table and let out a satisfied sigh.

"Guess we better get going, then," Goku said. "Come on, Goten. I'll race you!"

With a delighted laugh from both father and son, the duo leapt up from the table and ran out the door, lifting off into the sky and blasting towards Capsule Corp.

Chi-Chi smiled as she watched them go. "They left all their dishes, as always."

"Need any help, mom?" Gohan asked from behind her.

She turned and waved him off. "No, no, I'm fine. You go get ready for your study session." The thudding steps of two large feet could be heard from farther inside the house. "There's my help," she said with a smile. "Serves him right for waking up so late these days."

Gohan smiled and headed back to his room, waving a good morning to the Ox King as his massive grandfather trudged through the doorway toward his unsuspecting chores. The young demi-Saiyan showered and dressed, then grabbed his packed schoolbag and soared off into the sky.

-- --- --

The West City Museum had a long tradition of finding some of the rarest and most impressive historical artifacts in the world. They employed archaeologists from around the globe to search for treasures to add to the exceptional collection that brought millions of visitors through the doors of the museum every year. Even though the building was closed for the weekend, a small crew was waiting inside. Word of a new discovery on one of their digs had come through, and the truck bearing the artifact was due to arrive any minute.

"So," the curator said, turning to one of the staff experts who would lead the study on the new relic prior to display, "have there been any other noteworthy finds in the area this piece is coming from?"

"None recently," the other man replied. "Not much at all has come from that region that I know of. A few minor trinkets from old mountain tribes turn up every few years when some hiker gets lucky."

"Hrmph. This had better be something more than some minor trinket," the curator said gruffly. "We've put a lot of money into this particular excavation, and Director Patiens promised us something extra-special from the cavern they found."

Just then, the truck came into view around the corner. The dirt-encrusted vehicle backed up to the loading dock, parking to unload the large crate from the bed. It was carried inside to one of the numerous rooms in the museum set aside for studying the countless artifacts that passed through.

"Everything seems to be in order," the lead scientist said when the crate was set down. "We'll get to it first thing next week."

The curator nodded. There were other exhibits requiring the expertise of the staff at the moment, along with it being a weekend, and even a mysterious new find could wait. It had been sitting under a mountain for countless years, what would a few more days be?

The lights went off, the door was closed and locked, and the crate sat unopened. Inside, the orb was still and silent. No more wisps of ethereal haze escaped, the breach made by the dig director's touch having resealed itself some time before. It was no matter to the contents of the sphere. It had been countless years already, all spent lying motionless in the darkened chambers of the mountain cavern. What would a few more days be?

-- --- --

"That's it. If I learn one more thing today, my head will explode." Sharpner dropped his pencil and leaned back into the thickly cushioned armchair, massaging his temples.

"That makes two of us," Erasa said, sprawling out on the couch as if she'd just run a marathon.

Gohan, who was well-practiced in long stretches of time spent studying, was as eager as he had been five hours before. However, when he noticed that even Videl had given in and was resting her eyes from the comfort of a futon, he shrugged and stretched out as well.

"Summer break is never going to get here," sighed Erasa.

The four teens rested in silence for a few minutes, letting their minds relax after a grueling afternoon of study. Gohan had proven an able tutor, bringing his friends light-years ahead of where they'd been. Sharpner was caught up in several subjects now, the athletic-minded boy having spent the year more concerned with his fastball than his physics grade. Even Erasa, a much more gifted student than one would expect, still got some much-needed review from a year spent with an ear tuned to the school's gossip network more often than the lectures. Their break was extended when one of the butlers walked in, carrying fresh trays of drinks, sandwiches, and snacks. The teens accepted the food with thanks, and the man bustled out with a short bow.

After they'd polished off the refreshments, Gohan was about to ask if they were ready to get started again when Sharpner spoke up first.

"I think that's enough studying for one day," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, I'd better get going," Erasa said, with a look at her watch. "I'll see you all on Monday."

"Me, too," Sharpner said. "Thanks for your help, Gohan. Later, Videl."

The two blondes said their goodbyes and made their way out. Gohan watched them go with a puzzled look on his face. Only five hours of studying? His mother would have been scandalized.

"You're so cute when you're thinking," Videl said playfully.

"Wha–?" Gohan did a double-take, his cheeks reddening.

The raven-haired girl smiled; the full, bright smile she used only when the two of them were alone. "You heard me."

Gohan grinned back. The two teens just looked at each other for a long moment, relaxed in perfect contentment.

A casual observer would have found it odd, seeing a pair such as this sitting in silence, doing nothing but gazing back and forth almost without blinking. They would have found it even more incredulous that both would deny, either with frenzied embarrassment or patent indignation, that they were anything more than good friends. They had grown up so devoid of the concepts of what other teenagers would call "normal" social interaction that they didn't even realize that _many_ things they did made it seem to everyone else that they were anything but "friends." For all they knew, there was nothing odd about looking openly at one another for long stretches of time, as if communicating by telepathy. To them, it just seemed a natural part of their relationship, which was perfectly platonic, thank-you-very-much. All the teasing by their acquaintances at school was dismissed with the mutual disdain they held for the naïve, gossip-dominated culture of Orange Star High School.

Gohan had grown up oblivious to what other people his age did, or how they acted. With a conniving monk and sullen Namekian for company as opposed to other kids his age, he had not the slightest clue what to expect when he had started high school so many months ago. For the most part, Gohan hadn't changed. His ingenuous charm was not likely to be altered by any amount of exposure to his so-called peers. While often his personality made him seem hopelessly naïve to others, it, along with his intellect, put him on a level of thought that was beyond that of most of his classmates. The general consensus was that he was unlearned in the ways of teenagers, but for his part, Gohan thought of the way his schoolmates acted to be false and contrived. Besides, he didn't need any extra attention; it was hard enough to keep his secrets as it was. And if the rest of the school wanted to see him as a nerd instead of who he really was, all the better they just ignore him.

Videl, having spent life since the age of ten in the spotlight, had grown up in a different sort of oblivion towards normal teenage existence. She had matured emotionally much more quickly than anyone she knew, and she thought the antics of girls like Erasa to be downright childish at times, especially in regards to relationships. Her involvement with the police forces at an early age had not endeared her towards acting "normally," either. In her eyes, to be normal was to either be the scum of the streets, or hyperactive and giddy. So instead she had gone through life independently minded and aloof, sustaining herself through her work in crime fighting and the practice of martial arts. The general consensus was that she was stubborn and standoffish, but in fact she just couldn't bring herself to act like everyone else for the sake of popularity. Besides, she had enough publicity as it was. And if someone could not appreciate her for what she was instead of what she wore, all the better then that she not even have to acknowledge their existence.

Had either believed at all in fate, they would have attributed their companionship to it. They were two of a kind, existing at a level beyond their fellow students in many more ways than their amazing physical abilities. Both had been forced to grow up at a painfully early age. Both had risen to the occasion, surviving and thriving in their own way, but their early transition to maturity had left each of them with a gap in their lives, a hole they could feel was there on a subconscious level, but could not really explain. It was not until they had found each other that they had known what they were missing: what it was like to have a person in your life you could relate to, openly and wholeheartedly.

Ironically, the maturity that had brought them so close to one another was also what held them back. They had grown up too soon to learn the lessons of life that would let them see now for themselves what the eyes of those around them so clearly realized. They had no business being just friends… not when they already acted together like something so much more. The question amongst those around them was how long it would take these two, wise beyond their years in so many ways, to grow up in another way and realize just what their feelings _really_ meant.

After several comfortable minutes, Videl broke the silence. "So, what're you planning on doing this summer?"

Gohan leaned back and studied the ceiling while he thought. Looking too long in those azure eyes made his mind just go pleasantly blank. "I don't know yet. It's my first 'normal' summer, really," he said at last. "I guess it'll be nice not have to ask permission to leave class whenever something comes up," he added with a chuckle.

As if on cue, the familiar yet accursed beeping of Videl's communicator filled the room. The two stared at the watch with mirrored looks of annoyance. It had been too long since they'd had a chance to just sit and talk to each other.

_Maybe that's another thing to change this summer,_ Gohan hoped as Videl activated the radio.

"Videl here."

"_Videl, we've got a holdup at the Sparkling Band Jeweler's Shop downtown,_" the chief's voice replied.

"Right, we're on our way," she said, clicking off the speaker. "No rest for the weary," she said to Gohan, who was already up and trying to work out the last kinks from his stiff limbs.

"Especially not for the Great Saiyamen," he agreed.

Two minutes later, changed into their distinctive outfits, they were in the air.

-- --- --

They arrived a short time later outside the small shop, landing in a cluster of squad cars. The police chief saw them coming down, and was waiting for them.

"Good to see you two," he greeted. "Just a couple of goons out to make a quick buck, from the looks of it, but they've got more than they bargained for now."

"We'll take it from here, chief," Gohan replied, confidence flowing from his theatrically basso Saiyaman voice. With an unspoken agreement, he and Videl strode forward to the gap between the door and the cluster of police cars.

The two teenagers stopped just short of the glass façade of the shop. Then, with well-practiced synchronization, they began one of their dramatic skits, the two striking poses like dancing partners as they went through their lines.

"When evil strikes the helpless!" Videl began.

"When the innocent cry for justice!" Gohan continued.

"The forces of good shall rise to defend those in need!"

"Give up, evildoers, for now you face… The _Great Saiyaman_!"

"And _Saiyagirl_!"

The two struck an intertwined pose like the end of an ice skating pair's performance, and paused for effect.

The effect was the roar of machine guns and the ringing crash of breaking glass.

Their reflexes, however, were up to the task. They both rolled in opposite directions, getting out of the line of fire the thugs inside had through the now-shattered windows. The policemen were huddled behind their squad cars as the hail of bullets pelted the sides of the vehicles.

"That doesn't sound like them giving up!" Gohan shouted over the racket.

The shooters paused when they realized they weren't hitting anything. They settled on confident shouts. "That's what you get when you mess with the Red Shark Gang!"

The two teens traded wide-eyed glances, though Gohan's was mostly hidden by his sunglasses. Their surprise froze them for a moment, which turned out to be a good thing as another long burst of shots followed the shout.

When the guns fell silent for a second time, the two heroes didn't hesitate. With astounding speed they charged inside, their quick wits taking in the situation in the split-second they had to act. It could have been worse. Two robbers were standing behind a nearby counter, reloading their weapons. A cluster of scared people were huddling on the back wall. They were covering their ears from the noise of the guns, but out of harm's way. For all the fanfare, with two quick strikes it was over.

The criminals were shoved into squad cars, still groggy from the blows. The chief watched the cars recede into the distance, heading towards the station. "I knew it was trouble when the Red Shark's leader escaped," he said. "But I had no idea he'd have them back in business so soon."

"Don't worry, chief," Videl replied, her helmet propped in the crook of an arm. "We took care of them once. We'll get them again."

"You're right, of course," the officer replied. "Well, thanks for the help you two. I'm sure you have better ways of spending your Saturdays."

"No problem at all, chief," Gohan said. With a last wave, he and Videl lifted off and flew back in the direction of the Satan Mansion.

Unseen on one of the rooftops across the street, an observer watched the two fly off. Lifting a radio, he sent a call back to the abandoned warehouse that was home to the Red Shark Gang. "It was them. They dropped in just like you said, Boss."

-- --- --

Back in the warehouse, the Boss smiled and cracked his knuckles. "Excellent. Now dat we're sure those two brats are still hanging around playing superhero, it's time to get everyone ready for phase two." The Boss grinned, his eyes glinting with malice. "Two days from now, and da so-called 'defenders of justice' will be gone for good. And this city vill be ours." His booming, evil laugh filled the warehouse.

The second voice within him did not join the laughter, but its tone was pleased. _**And that is only the beginning**_.

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***A/N* **- Starting with this one, the chapters get a bit longer from here on out, and with a few exceptions, they also get easier to edit. For the most part I'm down to pruning adverbs and correcting some odd structural flaws. (For some reason I used to start a new paragraph with every instance of dialogue. That may seem small, but it was actually quite jarring when I first started re-reading.)

Next chapter: _The Rising Storm_

Bleh... I thought this chapter naming scheme was the height of cleverness when I was a teenager.


	8. Chapter Eight: The Rising Storm

**Chapter Eight**

**The Rising Storm**

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully, and the new week began. The onset of finals brought a mix of panic and excitement to Orange Star High School. Panic over the tests themselves, and excitement that this was the last day before a long-awaited summer break. It was no different for Gohan, Videl, Erasa, and Sharpner as they made their way through the halls between each test.

The young half-Saiyan plowed through his exams faster than his father could plow through a meal, finishing most within ten minutes. Videl was often the next one done, though she was nowhere near Gohan's pace. Their other two friends seemed to do fine as well, the long afternoon of studying helping more than they could have hoped. The routine continued through the day, the buzz of anticipation for the end of it all becoming palpable as they walked towards their final test.

"Man, we just _had_ to have Mrs. Storbul for the last final of the year," Sharpner moaned as they approached the classroom. The infamous history teacher was enough to drain the enthusiasm from any student. Even though her classes themselves were easy, she was notoriously strict. Mrs. Storbul refused to allow students to leave her class for any reason whatsoever. She had made a nasty habit of reporting Videl every time she left for police business, much to the chagrin of the principal. The man had likely lost count of how many times he had told the crotchety educator that Videl had _permission_ to leave.

Gohan's predicament had been a different story. He had managed to slip out unnoticed just once, only to receive a tongue-lashing in class the next day that would have made even Chi-Chi pale. She had given him detentions for a week, and taken a round twenty percent off of Gohan's grade. The latter hadn't mattered much, since he still had a 160% mark in the class.

The students filed in with graveyard silence, all of them proceeding straight to their seats without so much as the squeak of a sneaker. Mrs. Storbul had been known to fail students for less.

"In your seats, now!" the screeching voice of the elderly woman rang through the room, despite the fact that everyone was already seated. "I don't want to hear a single word!" Dead silence reigned. The class knew to take her orders seriously. She was dressed in a long business skirt and blouse so bland and conservative that it looked like it had come from the 1800s. Her grey-white hair was wrapped in a tight bun, without a single stray strand visible. Her beady eyes darted like a hawk's from behind the thick lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses. Picking up a razor-straight pile of papers from her desk, she walked around the room passing out the tests. The dull clop of her black, short-heeled shoes echoed in the room with every precise stride.

The entire class sat in stiff silence until Mrs. Storbul returned to her desk. "You have two hours to complete the test, starting now," she said. The class would have rolled their eyes and groaned, if that action didn't risk summary execution. Once again, she had extended the duration of her final period's test to an hour beyond the end of the school day.

It was made even worse by the fact that her history finals were twenty-five painfully simple multiple-choice questions. It boggled their minds that a teacher so oppressively strict could teach a class so easy to pass. No one said anything about it out loud, of course, lest rumors reach the sharp ears of Mrs. Storbul herself and the lone saving grace of her classes disappear.

As it was, the entire class finished their exams inside of twenty minutes. They proceeded to sit staring ahead, hands folded in front of them, determined to survive the time between now and the end of the year. Most students considered it a rite of passage, a final trial to survive before the arrival of summer vacation.

An eternity after the last test had been completed, or ten minutes by the clock on the wall, something happened that might have made them all jump in surprise, had they not been so rigidly concentrating on remaining still.

Videl's watch beeped.

The girl's eyes widened, just a hair, but she managed not to move otherwise. The look from Mrs. Storbul could have melted a hole in a battleship, but it was directed at the watch, and not Videl herself. It continued beeping, a bead of a sweat now trickling down the girl's brow.

Mrs. Storbul shifted her piercing glare. "Miss Satan!" she screeched, "Silence that infernal racket!"

Knowing of no other way to do so, Videl raised the watch and clicked on the radio. "Chief, this is a _really_ bad time!" she hissed.

The reply was quiet, but in the dead silence of the classroom it still carried so all, including Mrs. Storbul, could hear. It wasn't the chief's amiable, oft-flustered voice that returned, however. It was an accented, sinister drawl. "_I'm afraid ze chief is indisposed at ze moment_." Most of the class glanced towards the unfamiliar sound despite themselves.

"Who is this?" Videl hissed back.

"_Oh, come now. I'm hurt_," the speaker replied. "_I had hoped you would remember me_."

It clicked. Videl scowled at the watch. "Sorry, I was too busy beating you senseless to be properly introduced last time," she spat. The laugh that followed was a chill wind blowing through the room.

"_Strong vords, little girl. Why don't you come down to ze police station in person and prove it vosn't dumb luck_?"

She just stared for a long moment. How in the world had they managed to get into the police station?! A faint mumbling could be heard over the small speakers.

"_Oh, it seems your chief would like to talk after all_." A dull thud and a rustle of cloth followed.

"_Videl, don't listen to him!_" the chief's voice cried, strained with panic. "_It's a trap!_" There was a horrible thud that sounded like a punch to a gut, and a faint gasp.

"_Oh vell_," the sinister voice returned. "_I guess he didn't have much to say_."

Videl's voice was rising in anger despite her best effort. "Let him go, you coward!" she snarled.

"_Why don't you pay us a visit and make me?_ _Though I really hope you hurry… ve are planning on paying your showboat father a visit too, and ve vouldn't want to keep him waiting._" There was a click as the connection closed. If the room had been silent before, now it was a vacuum.

The first person to speak was a surprise. What she had to say was a pure shock. "What are you waiting for? Go!" Mrs. Storbul screeched frantically. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with terror. The class just stared at her. "My son works at the police department!" she squawked, after Videl had seemed reluctant to move.

At that, Videl leapt up and left at a dead run, lest the woman change her mind. Gohan watched her go, still sitting like a statue, moving only his eyes. Even in Mrs. Storbul's panic, he knew she wouldn't let him leave, unless he wanted to reveal his identity. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Videl had handled the leader of the Red Shark Gang once before, and that she was even stronger now than she had been then. She could handle this.

He concentrated on keeping track of his friend's _ki_ signature, but he was still worried. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Videl could handle this alone, the nagging concern remained.

Mrs. Storbul sat at her desk, wringing her hands, an unnatural look of worry etched on her face. Despite that, no one risked making a sound. The class sat as still and quiet as before, though now time seemed to pass even more slowly.

-- --- --

Videl sped through the air at top speed, but while the world passed below her at what seemed to be slow motion, her mind was moving like a bullet train. A jumble of thoughts consumed her, from the chilling tone of the gang leader's voice to the panic of Mrs. Storbul, to a suddenly strong desire to have Gohan flying with her. Her confidence and determination told her that she could handle this alone, that wasn't the problem. She just missed having her friend by her side.

'_Friend_' _seems like a pretty weak term by now_. _Isn't he more than that to me?_ she thought, unconsciously repeating the frequent musings the two teens had long held, but never shared. She had never been afraid of anything in her life, but she couldn't bring herself to talk to Gohan about anything so… personal. An odd way to justify it, perhaps, considering that they confided in one another as totally as two people in their situations could. Part of her realized that it was that confidence and comfort that she was worried about losing. The two of them spent so much time together, and she enjoyed every single moment of it. She just didn't feel the same when they were apart. It was like having a piece of herself missing whenever he wasn't around. Did she want to risk losing that by telling him that she thought she felt for him as something much more than a friend?

Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt the faint brush of his senses tracking her. She couldn't hold back a smile. He was such a worrier.

The police station came into view through the collection of skyscrapers filling downtown Satan City, and she put all those thoughts aside. Now it was time to concentrate. She noticed the crowd of patrol cars surrounding the giant building, and spotted one of the lieutenants barking orders into a radio. She landed beside him. He was a young officer, only just promoted, but with most of the police leadership in the building they were surrounding he had been thrust into the spotlight. To his credit he had things set up well, considering the pandemonium.

He stopped barking orders into the radio when he saw Videl land. He gave a sigh of visible relief. "Boy am I glad to see you," he said. "We didn't know if the chief managed to get the word out in time."

"He didn't," Videl replied. "The Red Shark Gang's leader made a little social call."

The lieutenant's face fell. "Is the chief okay?"

"Yes, I heard him over the radio," Videl said, nodding to reassure him. She didn't mention that he had probably been knocked out right afterwards, not wanting to add to the young officer's panic. "What do we know?" she asked.

Instead of answering, the young lieutenant glanced at the clear sky. "Isn't the Great Saiyaman coming too?"

Videl suppressed the momentary annoyance at the implication that she wouldn't be able to handle the job alone. She knew better, of course. Were she in the lieutenant's shoes, she'd want all the help she could get, too. "No, he won't be able to make this one," she replied, crossing her arms. "So what have we got?"

The lieutenant got back to business. "For all we know, the entire Red Shark Gang could be in there. I can't believe it, they just stormed the place and trapped everyone inside. Reports are sketchy on just how they managed to lock the place down so fast. We knew their leader was back, but we had no idea they were still this well-equipped. The few people that made it out reported no fewer than a dozen gunmen, most armed with heavy automatic weapons." He pulled out a blueprint of the building. "We've pieced together that they're mostly on the tenth floor," he explained, pointing to the floor third from the top on the diagram.

_No skylight entrance this time_, Videl knew at once. _I'm going to have to fight through three floors, probably guarded, before I can even get to them. This could be interesting_.

The lieutenant continued pointing out what little they knew. "The hostages are there too, spread out through most of the outer offices as far as we can tell, and under guard." The young officer sighed and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "We haven't even received any demands yet," he finished, frustration evident.

In an instant of clarity, as if the last piece of a puzzle had slipped into place, Videl realized something. "There won't be any demands," she said grimly. It had all come together, everything from what the leader had said to her over the radio, to the way the gang was set up inside. The Red Sharks weren't after money or demands. They were after _her_.

Of course, that didn't change anything about what she was here to do. No matter their intentions, they had a lot of innocent people inside, many of whom she had worked with for over two years, and she wasn't about to walk away just because it was going to be dangerous. In fact, those thugs were going to get a rough-and-tumble refresher course on the skills of the one who sent their leader to jail in the first place.

She looked up to the windows of the tenth floor. The curtains and shades were closed in all of them, the simple action thwarting the snipers set up across the street. She thought she caught a hint of movement through one window. It was probably one of the thugs taking a peek outside. _There's no telling how many of them are hiding on that floor,_ she thought._ I'm going to have to go the long way_.

What can we do to help?" the officer asked.

Videl looked at him, a faint but confident smile on her face, and said, "Wish me luck." Before he could reply, she was airborne.

-- --- --

One of the gang who had been peeking out through the shades turned to the Boss. "She just headed up to the roof," he reported.

The Boss smiled darkly, and raised his walkie-talkie. "Be ready, boys. Ve got company coming from upstairs." Acknowledging calls came back from the men spread out through the top three floors.

"Still no sign of ze other one?" he asked, turning back to the spotter.

The henchman shook his head. "No, just the girl."

The Boss was calm on the outside, but anxious within. Doubts nagged at him, only to be answered by the persistent second personality residing in his head. He wished fervently for a moment's thought to himself. The other voice chuckled at that. _**Come now. Not having second thoughts about our little arrangement are you?**_

_I don't like this_,he admitted to himself. _Vot if she doesn't make it through ze men upstairs? I want to beat those six months I lost out of her myself_.

_**Don't **__**worry**__**,**_ the voice insisted. _**If she can't get**__** through those lackeys, she's not worth the trouble in the first place. Besides, we have to make this look convincing**__._

The Boss' cheek twitched. _I still don't see why you von't let me _kill _that little rat just because the boy didn't show up_.

_**Don't make me explain this again**__,_ the voice replied with an angry edge. _**We need her alive now to be the bait for her friend with the funny outfit, since he decided not to show up. Once we have him, you can take your time with the girl**__._

_Vot is so important about the second brat, anyway?_

There was a pause, and the Boss could feel a small part of his mind going over the recollections of the scuffle outside of the mayor's office six months ago. His hitchhiker had taken an annoying interest in reviewing his scattered memories of the boy who called himself Saiyaman. _**Because if my suspicions are correct**__,_ the voice replied at last, _**it's the boy we need to worry about**__._

-- --- --

Videl landed on the roof, and with a quick glance confirmed she was the only one up there. Spotting the door to the stairwell, she jogged over. Hoping for anything that could give her an advantage, she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to sense the _ki_ of anyone who might be lurking inside.

No such luck. Sensing Gohan or one of the other Z Fighters was one thing. Trying to detect normal people, who were unfamiliar and much weaker, was another matter entirely for her level of skill. She would have to trust her normal senses on this one.

She relaxed her body and cleared her mind. Her tension drained away with the last of her doubts, her mind settling into focus. With a last deep breath, she kicked in the door and charged inside.

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Next chapter: _Into the Shark's Teeth_


	9. Chapter Nine: Into the Shark's Teeth

**Chapter Nine**

**Into the Shark's Teeth**

The stairwell was dark, except for the light washing in from the doorway behind her. Videl came to a stop, lowering into a fighting crouch, her senses alert for the faintest hint of danger. She moved down the winding staircase with caution, keeping as out of sight as possible until the last light from the door above disappeared. She stopped, raised her hand and pressed a small button on her helmet, and the view through her visor shifted to the greenish cast of night-vision goggles. _They think something as simple as turning out the lights is going to slow me down? Hah!_

She made her way down the steps, seeing the landing of the thirteenth floor in the eerie green light through her visor. The door to the floor was open. _It's these landings that are going to be the most trouble. They could have any number of thugs waiting in the hallways,_ she thought. _Then again… they have to see me to shoot me._

With a small push of energy, she lifted herself to hover a few feet off the stairs. She drifted towards the landing, hugging the wall. She shifted horizontally to fit in the small space over the door, and floated over it. The trick let her avoid the sight of the thugs who were undoubtedly waiting in the hall for her to stride in front of the doorway as if she were target practice. She set herself down on the next set of stairs, and made her way towards the next landing as quietly as possible, successfully repeating the same floating trick at the second doorway.

As she made her way cautiously around the alternating staircases towards the 11th floor landing, she saw that the trick wouldn't work this time. With her electronically enhanced sight, she spotted a single thug loitering outside the doorway this time, wearing what were probably a set of his own night-vision goggles. _Stupid, Videl!_ she thought. _I should have known they'd have at least one guard in the stairwell. There's no way I can get around him, and the thugs above are going to hear it when I start fighting these guys!_ She gritted her teeth in frustration. She didn't have time to double back and take care of the goons above her, not anymore.

She heard the thug on the stairs hiss a whisper back into the hallway he was guarding. "Hey, Bax, shouldn't we have heard somethin' by now? The Boss said she landed on the roof almost five minutes ago!"

She couldn't make out the reply well enough to overhear anything that was said back, but what she'd heard so far confirmed her suspicions. They knew she was here, and they weren't going to wait forever. _Oh well,_ she thought. _I was going to have to take them all out eventually either way._

Taking advantage of the inattentiveness of goon who was still in whispered conversation, she leapt over the railing. With a little in-flight adjustment, she drove two booted feet straight into the man's chest, knocking him roughly back into the wall. He slid down and slumped unconscious. Before whoever was hiding inside the doorway could even shout in surprise, Videl charged through, sliding to a stop several feet past the doorway itself. She spun quickly and saw two thugs lurking in the corners of the doorway, just now turning their heads to her, their guns still pointed the other way.

With a catlike pounce, she punched the one on the right with a right cross straight in the jaw, snapping his head around straight into the concrete wall. She spun with the momentum of her punch and extended her right leg, catching the gun of the other thug just as he was training it on her. The man pulled the trigger by reflex, sending a volley of wild shots into the ceiling behind him. Another quick jab and he was down, but the loud sounds of the shots had blown her slim chance at taking the guards down without a noticeable commotion.

She heard confused shouts from above, and the sudden thunder of footsteps as the guards on the upper floors realized that they'd been had. She muttered a soft curse, looking up the stairwell towards the noise, when a new idea struck her. Without hesitating, she leapt back into the passage and floated around the cement staircase. She pushed herself up against the underside of the steps, hiding herself from view. Until they moved down the stairs and looked up, at least.

She could feel through the cement as well as hear when the goons ran down the section she was pressed up against, and heard one of them curse when he saw the three unconscious thugs. "She must have gone down, come on!" one of them said, and the footfalls continued.

Not waiting for them to spot her, as soon as she saw the first one turn the corner to head down the stairs to her right, she lunged out. The man didn't even see her before he was unconscious thanks to a boot across his face, and the three thugs behind him just gawked in surprise. Another one was on the floor before they even tried to bring their weapons to bear, and with a gymnast's flip, Videl landed behind the last pair. A kick sent one tumbling down the steps, and a final jab knocked the last one out just as he was turning around.

She double checked the men with hurried precision, making sure they were all out cold. _Right. Seven down, who knows how many to go?_ She was surprised when no one else charged out to challenge her, sure that the other Red Shark gangsters must have heard the sounds of the fight. _Fine. If they want to play sitting duck, all the better._ She crept down to the landing of the tenth floor and saw light washing out from the small gap underneath the closed door. Reaching up, she deactivated the night vision setting on her visor, and near-blackness returned. She walked up to the door and pressed her back against the wall, right hand reaching out to grip the knob. Taking a last deep breath, she twisted the knob and flung the door open.

As expected, a massive hail of bullets greeted the opening door, filling the stairwell with sparks and flying cement fragments. She heard a commanding shout, indiscernible through the racket, and the gunfire stopped. Not wasting any time, she detached herself from the wall and dove into the room. She leapt behind the nearest cover she could find – a thick desk next to the doorway – just as another volley of bullets filled the air over her head with lethal fire. Bulletproof suit or not, she was not about to stand around in that hail of fire. Bulma's new design protected her, but it didn't make her invincible.

She peered around the edge of the desk, trying to get a decent glimpse of the situation. The floor was arranged with two sections of desks and cubicles, separated by a wide central aisle. She saw the heads of several thugs who were taking cover behind the desks, their guns out and all pointed in her direction. The walls were set with offices, the shades on the interior windows left open to reveal one gangster with a group of huddling hostages inside each room.

"Give it up, little girl," an all-too familiar voice called from far back in the room. "You're trapped, and you know it."

Videl didn't grace the Boss with a reply, short of smiling to herself. She reached down to her belt and pulled two small capsules from pockets on the inside of the band. Holding one in each hand, she clicked the tops and tossed the two tiny canisters over her shoulders, in the general direction of the center of the room.

Even before the muffled _boom_ had faded, she reached up and pressed another small button on her helmet, turning her view into the eerie rainbow of infrared. As the thugs gave shouts of surprise, and even a few wild shots that came nowhere near her, she rose up and charged back into the room.

The smoke capsules had worked wonders, filling the room with a dense white fog that made it impossible for the goons to see their own noses. Videl, relying on her infrared sight, charged into the scattered gunmen, knocking each out before they even knew she was upon them. She worked fast, darting methodically from point to point and dispatching each man with a single blow, part of her knowing the smoke was already beginning to dissipate. However, by the time the room was clear enough to see a few feet, every one of the thugs scattered through the room was lying unconscious. Senses still alert, she noticed the sounds of struggle coming from the offices along the walls. Though she couldn't see for sure, it looked like the hostages, seizing upon the distraction, were overwhelming the typically inept goons guarding them.

Videl shut off the infrared view once the smoke had cleared enough to see the whole room, and looked around. Groups of police officers were coming out of the wall offices, many of them cheering. She gave them a broad smile, watching with satisfaction as a few set to handcuffing the unconscious crooks.

Her gaze stopped cold. Standing at the back of the room in the middle of the central aisle, the familiar hulking form of the Boss stood tall, his arms crossed smugly. A small smile tugged on the edge of his thin mouth, and the look sent shivers down her spine. Some of the policemen had grabbed the weapons from the downed criminals, and now trained them on the imposing leader.

"You must have been in a real hurry to go back to jail to pull a stunt like this," Videl said. Oozing confidence, she placed her hands on her hips and stared down the Boss across the aisle like an old western sheriff regarding a bandit at high noon. "I wouldn't be smiling if I were you. After all, it's not like you can get out of this one with an insanity plea."

To the total surprise of all present, the Boss tossed his head back and laughed. A deep, booming sound that all but rattled the windows, it was devoid of any fear or doubt, or anything the Boss _should_ have been feeling at this point. If anything, the man sounded like he had just heard the best joke in his life.

"I don't see what's so funny, big guy," Videl said when the Boss finally quieted down again.

The smile he gave her was so cold and certain that she almost dropped down into a fighting stance out of concern that this nutcase would attack her in some suicidal rage. "I don't zink so, you little brat. You got lucky last time, and you did nice work vith dese worthless fools I brought along, but I'm not going to go so easily."

"You're nuts," she replied, incredulous. "First off, you have a whole lot of angry police officers with guns staring at you. Second, if you've forgotten _me_, then I guess one of my kicks to your head the last time I beat you up damaged your memory. I'm not worried about some two-bit con."

The brutish man's grin only widened. "Ve'll see about that."

She was about to toss another smart remark at him when he vanished.

She heard a rapid succession of thuds and gasps, and all of the police officers seemed to double over one by one, the guns disappearing from their hands. Videl's eyes darted around frantically, but she couldn't catch a hint of the Boss anywhere. The officers kept falling like they were being bashed with an invisible set of dominoes, until with another blur of motion, the Boss reappeared exactly where he had been standing before. Only now, his massive arms were laden with dozens of firearms, and not a single cop was standing.

Videl could only stare at him wide-eyed. _No… no way! I've never even seen Gohan move that fast! How could he possibly do that?_

The Boss worked the cluster of firearms around in his hands, and she watched in shocked silence as he proceeded to crush every single one of the guns together until they formed a single metal lump the size of a bowling ball. He dropped it with a dull thud on the carpeted floor, and folded his arms again. The grin spread even further. "Looks like ze angry police officers vith guns are out of ze way," he said casually. He paused and cradled his chin in one hand, as if thinking. "I guess that just leaves one other little problem…" His gaze dropped to her, and his smile turned vicious.

Fighting off her confusion, Videl dropped into a ready stance. "You're welcome to try," she said, a trace of a confident smile breaking through. _I've taken this guy down before. So what if he's a little faster? I haven't exactly been sitting around since I took care of him last time._

Without another word, the brute's form blurred again, and she barely had time to gasp before a massive leg was swinging towards her head. Her left arm rose to block, but it only added to the impact of the leg as it was slammed into the side of her head. She went tumbling across the room, plowing through the rows of desks straight into the side wall. She came to a stop and shook her head, thankful for her helmet. Before another thought could form, the Boss was on her again, a fist swinging straight down at her. She managed to roll away before the massive hand left a crater in the spot she had been sitting a split-second before.

As he pulled his hand free, she leapt up and sent a strong roundhouse kick right into the back of his head. He didn't even flinch, and her surprise left her wide open to the uppercut that sent her crashing into the fiberboard ceiling, tearing a gouge twenty feet long before her back struck an unyielding water main and she dropped back to the floor. Videl struggled to regain her footing. She might have been able to deflect some of his first attack, but that second punch had felt as if all the physical pain she had ever experienced in her life had been brought back in the form of a single strike. Even through her surge of adrenaline, the world was beginning to blur at the edges of her vision. She had barely made it to one knee before she felt all her breath leave her when a boot dug deeply into her stomach. She curled up on the floor in agony, her eyes widened in shock as she struggled to take in air.

She didn't even notice the massive shadow that now stretched over her. A huge hand reached down and grabbed her by the collar of her vest and cape, dragging her off the ground. She clutched her stomach, eyes still wide but unfocused as she gasped for a breath.

"Vell. Looks like you're a bit surprised, no?" he said, the same vicious smile on his face. He reached his other hand up and knocked off her helmet with the casual flick of a finger. His gaze flitted up and down her body, as if surveying a fish caught on a hook. "I zee your sense of fashion is as poor as your fighting skills." He dropped her, only to meet her fall with a tremendous spinning roundhouse kick before she touched the ground. The battered girl was sent tumbling through more desks, coming to a stop in a back corner of the room.

Her eyes were fluttering as she even now stubbornly fought off unconsciousness, both from the pain and the lack of oxygen as she still struggled to breathe. She barely registered the fact as the Boss stood over her, reaching down for her throat with a crushing hand. Mere inches from her neck, the hand stopped, and wavered. The Boss' face was twisted with anger. "Damnit!" he growled, the hand still hovering inches from a killing grip. With a sudden jerk, he reared back and grabbed his skull as if his head had just been stabbed with a red-hot poker, writhing and howling in pain and rage. Slowly, his convulsions stopped, and the weak voice that came out would have almost been pitiful if anyone had heard it. "Fine… you win…"

Inside the Boss' head, the struggle turned one sided. _**I'm not quite that forgiving. It's time I took matters into my own hands. And for that, I'll need some hands.**_

The huge man grabbed his head a second time, screaming and convulsing. It lasted only a few seconds this time. He stood up straight once again. "That's better." The voice was no longer the deep accent of the Boss, it was a strange mix of both that and the voice he had been hearing in his head ever since that last night in the prison.

Videl didn't notice the inner struggle in her own failing fight against pain and unconsciousness. At last, even her stubborn will gave out. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt blackness take her, not knowing if she would ever see light again.

-- --- --

Gohan's brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes open but unseeing. The minutes of the last period had drug on endlessly, even as he passed time by keeping track of Videl's _ki_. He felt a strange energy signature rise near her, and he focused his sixth sense upon it. The odd feeling about the new _ki_ refused to go away. It felt almost as if two people were occupying the exact same point, and what was worse, they were strong.

The dull sensations of the brief battle played out like some horrible movie on fast-forward. Videl's energy dropped like a rock, even as the odd source spiked. It was sheer luck that the sickening feeling of Videl's _ki_ slipping into near-nothingness coincided with Mrs. Storbul's announcement that class was over. He jumped out of his seat as if he had been sitting on a hot plate, unnoticed among the rest of the students that stood up to hurry out of their dungeon. His eyes wide but still unfocused, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk, Gohan just stood there as the rest of the class filed out. No one noticed him in their hurry to depart.

His thoughts finally breaking through the numb shock of the moment, Gohan shook his head, only dimly aware that he was alone in the classroom. He hurdled the four rows of desks before him, landing right next to the door and taking off down the empty hall at a dead run. He rushed up the stairs to the roof, changing into his Saiyaman costume as he took flight purely by reflex. With an eruption of energy and a thunderous sonic boom, he took off at top speed towards the fading sense of Videl.

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Next chapter: _Warning Signs_


	10. Chapter Ten: Warning Signs

**Chapter Ten**

**Warning Signs**

The police outside the station were worried to the point of panic. The gunfire several minutes before had been bad enough, but now in the silence their concerns mounted. Why hadn't they heard anything yet? No one from inside had contacted them, not the hostages, not Videl, not even the Red Sharks. The whole of the police force was on the verge of storming the building, with or without an order.

Suddenly, one of the policemen gave a shout and pointed to the sky. Even as he flashed to a stop over the building, the green-and-black figure of the Great Saiyaman was clearly recognizable. The lawmen cheered as he landed on the roof and rushed inside. With both of the Great Saiyamen on the scene now, they knew everything would be fine.

-- --- --

Gohan charged inside the open stairwell door, leaping whole flights at once in his rush. He paid little thought to the mound of unconscious bodies surrounding the doorway of the eleventh floor, his keen eyes and other senses alert for more serious dangers in the darkness. He came to a halt when he entered the tenth floor, taking a quick survey of the battlefield before him.

Desks were strewn haphazardly all over, bullet holes lining most of the wall behind him. Dozens of unconscious men, both police officers and thugs, were scattered across the floor. A gaping hole stretched through the ceiling across the room, five feet wide and twenty feet long. His gaze halted when he saw the room's only other conscious occupant. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, across the once-clear aisle that was now littered with broken fiberboard from the ceiling, scattered papers and folders, and the broken remains of a few desks. The bulky figure just looked back at him with his arms crossed and smiled cruelly. Though the face was familiar, the sense of the man was not. He was obviously the source of that strange double-_ki_ he had been sensing.

The Boss smiled and peered at him intently, as if seeing him for the first time. He spoke, but it was not with the voice he remembered from outside City Hall months before, or even the one that had spoken over Videl's watch communicator earlier. "Greetings, young warrior. So glad you could join us." The speech was eerily similar to a Fusion, two distinct voices overlapping and blending as they spoke the same words. The Boss' deep, accented growl was there, but there was also another voice, much more precise and calm.

"Who are you?" Gohan demanded, scowling at the thug.

The other regarded him quizzically for a moment. When he spoke this time, the Boss' familiar voice was much more apparent. "Forgotten me so soon, boy?"

The demi-Saiyan just stared back. "No, I haven't forgotten you," he growled, still trying to comprehend this strange turn of events. "Where is she?"

Something in the other man's face changed. His eyes twisted in anger for a moment, then shifted back to a coldly neutral expression. "She is here," he said, his voice returned to the original even mix. He turned, revealing the slumped and battered form of Videl lying unconscious against the back wall.

Suppressing the sudden urge to launch himself at the massive brute and rip him into small pieces, Gohan settled on a low growl. "_Who_ are you?" he asked again, this time more forcefully. "The man we sent to jail six months ago wasn't nearly this strong."

The hulk dropped into a fighting stance, the smile still on his face. He replied in a voice now dominated by the unfamiliar speaker. The constant changes in tone were getting confusing. "If you prove you're worth it, maybe I'll explain it to you," he said. Without another word, he charged.

Gohan threw up a hasty defense, surprise at the thug's unexpected speed putting him on his heels. The spacious room seemed to shrink as he gave ground to the constant barrage of fists and feet. The only consolation was that while the thug was fast, he wasn't quite fast enough.

Gohan parried a strong jab, then leapfrogged over the giant man with a quick jump, no small feat with the small space between the brute's head and the ceiling. He spun around just in time to block another series of blows, but he had successfully maneuvered to get more breathing room behind him. He allowed the big lug to inch him back with his attacks until they were back in the center of the room, but now the half-Saiyan was finished being on the defensive. He sidestepped two more blows, and then lashed out with his own offensive barrage. The larger man staggered as several of the lightning-fast attacks broke through his guard with the surprising change in momentum.

Trying to regain the initiative, the Boss reared back for a powerful punch, but Gohan ducked under the blow and saw his opening. As the larger man stumbled forward, off balance for a critical split-second, Gohan planted a hand and struck out with a double-booted kick right into the brute's midsection.

The giant now stumbled back with a grunt, but Gohan did not press the advantage. He decided it was better to take a moment to size up who he was facing. The man was just as massive as he remembered, but Gohan had learned long ago how little bearing size could have on a skilled fighter's abilities. Even so, it was not hollow bulk. His punches and kicks would be able to do real damage if Gohan failed to block them. His speed was impressive as well. He couldn't get a good read on the man's power level, still trying to sift through the strange sensation of there being two people in the same place.

The Boss stood up straight and again favored the boy with his cruel smile. "Looks like there may be a decent fight for me in this room after all," he chorused in the strange dual voice. "I'd say it's time to raise the stakes."

Gohan's eyes widened as he felt the man's energy begin to rise. _He wasn't even going all out yet?_ He was more surprised than concerned, seeing as he had barely even scratched the surface of his own capabilities yet. Even so, it was still worrying to know how much stronger the man before him was than the thug that Videl had knocked around months before. With his mind geared towards combat, the pieces of the puzzle hadn't quite slipped into place. "Ready whenever you are, big guy."

The larger man just widened his smile. Gohan could feel the surge of power from right in front of him continue, but even as the building began to quiver on its foundations around them, he could now clearly feel two distinct _ki_ coming from the Boss. One was markedly weaker than the other, and while growing it was quickly being dwarfed by the second sense.

The rumbling around them subsided and the hulk's spiking energies leveled off. Not wanting to take unnecessary risks, Gohan drew on some of his reserves, keeping his level ahead of his opponent… at least, as best as he could judge it.

His surprise continued when the Boss smiled at him. "Well, well," the Boss said, his tone conversational. His voice was again favoring the cold, precise side of his speech. "Glad to see at least some of the sullen haven't entirely wasted all this time. You're not quite out of strength yet."

Despite himself, Gohan couldn't hold back a brief shock. "You can sense energy now, too? You're just full of surprises."

The larger man kept smiling coldly. "If you can still keep up when I really start trying, you might find out why."

_No way! He _has_ to be bluffing. How much more strength could he have gained in six months?_ Gohan thought worriedly. _Something isn't right with this guy_.

The young fighter's thoughts were cut short by the Boss' charge. Their bodies were blurred with their increased speed, the fury of the combat rising with every blow. Gohan found himself struggling to keep up this time, once again forced on the defensive and hard pressed to break out.

_I misjudged his strength! Oh, great, now I'm in trouble_. His opponent sensed his struggle, and came at him even harder. Gohan found himself trapped against an office wall, with no more room to retreat, vainly trying to block or dodge the hail of blows.

The Boss finally slipped inside his defense, driving a huge fist straight into Gohan's chest. With the force of the blow, the half-Saiyan crashed back through the office wall and through the outer layer of the building to boot, creating a gaping hole that the other man followed him through. Gohan regained his senses just in time to bat away the next series of strikes as the two fighters now duked it out a hundred feet above the mass of police cars on the street below.

Unable to concentrate enough to power up, Gohan was getting desperate. With a quick burst of speed, he flew back, trying to gain some distance. The Boss gave chase, but Gohan had just enough time to fire off a small energy blast. The giant batted it aside with a derisive grunt, but had less luck with the punch that followed. Gohan's fist struck true, stunning the Boss just long enough to pelt the larger man with a barrage of punches and kicks. With a powerful double-fisted hammerblow, he sent his opponent spiraling down towards the street.

Policemen scattered out of the way, but the Boss reasserted himself mere feet above the ground. He looked up menacingly at Gohan and swiped a thin rivulet of blood trailing from his lip. "It's been fun, kid," he shouted, "but I'm tired of the games. I want to find out what this new body of mine can really do!"

The demi-Saiyan stared down, trying to comprehend what he just heard. All traces of the thick accent the Boss usually sported were gone, replaced by a voice so cold and confident that it sent chills down Gohan's spine. Before he could shout a reply, he felt another massive surge in his opponent's power. The odd double-sense was now fading, the stronger half of what he had felt before cresting like a tide to drown out all traces of what had once been the Boss of the Red Shark Gang.

The rise of his energy sent shockwaves out, knocking back policemen below like they were dolls. Dust flew about in a storm of grit and debris, and the few men still standing below shielded their eyes. A red aura flared to life around the hulking man, and with a loud roar, the energy peaked with one last blunt shockwave before settling down.

Gohan looked down at his adversary, finally getting a sense of the man's full power. With the surprise finally gone, a confident smirk born of his Saiyan pride attached itself to his face. He floated down until he was at eye level with the brute, who was still staring at him with that same frigid grin. "Nice light show, buddy," he said. Even to his own ears, his voice was casual and cold. "But now it's my turn." He reached up and pulled off his sunglasses and bandana, revealing his crop of short, spiked black hair.

The giant's smile wavered as he felt the _ki_ intensifying in the green-clad boy. A white aura erupted around him, and the ground around them rumbled with the rise of energy. Gohan's cold smile changed to a scowl. Wind whipped around them in a gale, the cars on the street below shifting away in stutters as their tires made vain attempt to grip the pavement against the force of the rising energy

With a last howl that shook the foundations of the skyscrapers around them, Gohan completed his transformation to the Mystic level that the Elder Kai had granted him six months before. Faint sparks of electricity coursed around his clear aura at the full release of the energy within him.

"This isn't possible," the big brute growled through clenched teeth, all traces of his confident smile gone. "The sullen couldn't even manipulate energy. Even in all this time, how could any being from that pathetic race achieve such a level of strength?"

Gohan stared him down with no remorse, knowing now that his opponent had no chance. The Saiyan blood of his heritage sang through him at the promise of combat, but the human side of him still held sway. "It's obvious you can tell when you're outclassed. I don't want to hurt you if I don't have to. Give up!"

"What kind of warrior are you to offer mercy to an opponent that has done what I have?" he spat back. "Have the servants and slaves left to pollute this rock achieved your level of strength only to squander it with pointless pacifism?"

Something in the back of Gohan's mind clicked. "You told me before that if I proved myself, you'd tell me who you were. I know now that the man I see isn't the one I'm talking to. It's impossible that a pathetic thug like that gangster could ever have gained the power you're using now. I think you owe me that explanation. Now." The half-Saiyan's voice carried an obvious threat with the last word.

The hulking warrior just seemed to stare at him for a moment, when a trace of a new smile reached his lips. "You have not proved anything yet, you simple child. Any warrior of merit should know that strength alone cannot carry the day! If you want any answers, you'll have to beat them out of me!"

_This guy sounds like Vegeta,_ Gohan thought grimly, knowing then that this would come down to a fight. His train of thought traced back to Videl, lying wounded and unconscious in the building above. That was all the motivation he needed.

Before the arrogant giant even saw him move, Gohan's fist was buried in his gut. Almost before that hit even registered in his brain, a white boot connected solidly with the side of his head, sending him crashing back into the police station. Racked with pain, he had just struggled to his hands and knees in the lobby when the young warrior appeared next to him again.

"Going up." With a single kick the man smashed upwards through floor after floor, his body breaking through the concrete like a wrecking ball. He smashed all the way through, flying out the roof and into the sky, only to meet Gohan's elbow cracking into his spine. The young fighter shifted around, lashing out with half a hundred blows in the span of a few seconds, pummeling the massive form as if he were a midair punching bag. Gohan stopped and let him fall, watching him tear another hole through the roof and down another half a dozen floors.

Gohan landed beside him as he lay facedown in a pile of rubble, unmoving. The young warrior heard a soft voice begin to speak.

"Very well then, boy. I won't have it said that I wasn't true to my word."

He stared down at the battered crook with an odd expression. It was then he noticed that while the voice was weak, it didn't seem to be coming from the Boss. In fact… the giant was out as cold as could be.

"I have lost my connection with that weakling, so I haven't much time to fulfill my end of the bargain," the voice continued.

"What do you mean, 'lost your connection?'" Gohan knelt down, feeling for a pulse with sudden worry. It was there, but faint. He honestly didn't think he had beaten him up _that _badly. At the level the hulk was at, he should have been able to stand way more punishment that what he had taken.

"I have released the body, as well as its owner, in penance for my defeat. I will soon be gone. Truth be told… I am grateful for it. I let it happen by removing my own strength from the powers of this body when you attacked. I had no way to defeat you, so why not instead allow you to grant me the release I desired even more than life? Believe me when I say that for myself, death is better than what I have suffered for countless years."

Gohan could only listen in quiet amazement.

"I am perhaps the first of my kind you have seen, but I will not be the last," the voice said. It was growing fainter, and its source was drifting higher above the still form of the Boss. Gohan noticed that a thin mist had left the body, forming into an indistinct cloud hovering a few feet off the ground. "I have no more time," it said, and Gohan had to strain even his exceptional hearing to make out the words. "You will see more of us, and you will know when you do… You sensed it, I could tell… I must warn you. Not all will be so willing to leave this world again… And none of us will be your friends… If they were to rise again, some might even make your powers seem but a candle before a star…"

Gohan rediscovered his voice. "Wait, what are you talking about?" he asked.

"I have no more time… I go… to release… finally…" The last word faded to silence, and the thin mist dissipated like a wisp of smoke in the breeze. Gohan sensed the last traces of life fade away, leaving only the weak sense of the Boss in front of him.

The heat of battle faded to confusion and unanswered questions, and Gohan knelt there for a long minute, pondering what he had heard. Another thought struck him like a thunderbolt, sending a fresh surge of adrenaline through his body. He flew up through the holes in the ceilings, stopping on the tenth floor. He ran over to the unconscious form of Videl, still lying against the wall as if in a deep sleep.

"Videl…" he whispered, looking her over. She was still breathing, but she didn't look to be in very good shape at all. The adrenaline rush slowly faded to allow the fresh surge of emotion through. He reached down and picked her up as gently as he could, cradling her limp form. "Videl," he said, his voice rough with concern and regret. The faintest whimper came from her at the sound of his voice. She shifted, but did not wake. "I thought I'd lost you…"

From behind them, the sound of footsteps came charging inside. "Saiyaman!" the flustered lieutenant in charge shouted, surveying the carnage of what remained of the police headquarters. He was followed in by a crowd of other officers, who spread out through the room. "Where is the Red Shark Gang's leader? And where's—" his voice cut off as he noticed Videl's unconscious form lying in his arms. "Oh, no! Is she…?"

"She's alive," Gohan replied. Conscious of having discarded his bandana and sunglasses during the battle, he kept his back turned. "But I have to get her to some help, fast. The Boss is down on the sixth floor," he continued, his voice grim. "But he's in bad shape."

"Well, I, ah… Saiyaman…" the lieutenant stammered, gaping at him. The man was torn. Half of him wanted to rejoice that that gangster had gotten the beating of his life, all the more so now that he saw firsthand the war zone that the police station had become. But another part of him remembered that the Saiyamen, who were so often the difference between a good day and a disaster for the Satan City authorities, were still not actual officers, and therefore it would _not_ be pretty if someone they had helped subdue ended up anything worse than roughed up. "I'll get a medic down there ASAP," he said at last. "What about—"

"I'll take her myself," Gohan cut him off, assuming his next question. "Can you handle this from here?"

"Go ahead." The young lieutenant nodded. His voice was confident, and there was the trace of something else in his expression as well… it looked like understanding. "We've got this covered."

With a nod, Gohan took flight out the nearest exit, which conveniently happened to be the hole in the wall he had made himself, with a little help from the Boss' fist. He raced off, going as fast as he dared with Videl's slack form in his arms.

The lieutenant and almost all of the other officers now standing in the chaotic mess that was the tenth floor of the Satan City Police Department, watched him go. A few waved, shouting their thanks, even knowing he couldn't hear or see them. The young officer, the same knowing look still on his face, said something different. "Take care of her, Saiyaman. For our sake… and for both of yours."

.

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Next chapter: _Recovery_


	11. Chapter Eleven: Recovery

**Chapter Eleven**

**Recovery**

Gohan landed on the lawn of Capsule Corp. and reached the door in two long strides. Shifting the weight of Videl's unconscious form to his right arm, he punched in the entry code on the keypad. The door slid open with a soft click. He rushed inside, heading straight for the spacious living room at the end of the main hallway. He was surprised by the sight of Bulma laying on one of the couches as opposed to being holed up in one of her labs. Instead of doing her usual tinkering, she was relaxing in front of an afternoon soap opera.

She sat up at the sound of hurried footsteps. "Oh, hi Gohan, I didn't hear you come in…" her voice trailed off as what she saw sank in. "Oh my!" she gasped, her eyes widening and a hand raised to her dropped jaw in alarm. She had seen Gohan and Videl return from their crime fighting efforts in various degrees of disrepair, but this was a first. Both were still in their Saiyamen costumes, the colorful outfits both dirty and torn. Gohan's face was deeply concerned as he laid Videl down on an empty couch. "What happened?" Bulma asked, standing up and walking over to the teenagers.

"I don't know for sure yet," Gohan replied. "She was unconscious when I found her, but I don't know any details besides who – or what, I guess – did it."

Bulma's brow furrowed. It wasn't like Gohan to be so vague. A dozen questions presented themselves, but she asked the first that popped up, and the worst. "You mean you weren't there?" she said, instantly regretting the hint of accusation in her tone.

The look of pain and guilt that flashed across Gohan's face made her feel even worse. "No," he said, his voice hollow. "She got the call and left, but there wasn't any way for me to sneak out with her this time. I felt the fight just as the class was dismissed, but by the time I got there, it was too late."

Bulma laid a comforting hand on the young man's broad shoulder. "Don't worry, she'll be fine as soon as we—" She stopped short as the familiar sounds of a purposeful stride came into the room.

"Gohan," a gruff voice called. The young man turned around, then flinched back as he saw a small object flying at him. His hand snapped up and caught the tiny green projectile by reflex.

He opened his palm to see a senzu bean sitting there. "Vegeta, thanks, but how did you—?"

"Do you think I'm oblivious?" the prince interrupted. "You're not the only one on this rock who can sense _ki_, and you might as well have been making a worldwide broadcast."

Gohan just nodded once and then turned back to Videl. He bent down and placed the bean in her mouth, then massaged her throat gently to get her to swallow. He stood up and watched her anxiously.

With a start, the young woman's eyes snapped open and she sat up, her head darting around in surprise and her breath coming in rapid gasps. She calmed somewhat once she recognized the familiar surroundings and faces, but she still looked troubled. "Gohan!" she gasped when her eyes moved to him. She jumped up off the couch and latched her arms around his neck, grabbing him in a strong embrace.

The young half-Saiyan's eyes widened momentarily in surprise, and then he returned the hug. "Glad to have you back," he said, relief evident in his voice.

She clung to him tightly for a long moment before moving back, but she still gripped his shoulders firmly at arm's length, as if making sure he wouldn't disappear before her eyes. "Where is he? Did you get him?" she asked.

"Yeah," Gohan affirmed with a nod. "But I still don't know what the heck was really going on."

"That makes two of us," Bulma added, her gaze flicking back and forth between the two teens. Vegeta stood aloof, his arms crossed. His gaze bore into them by way of answer.

Videl released Gohan and looked around in confusion. "I was hoping someone could tell _me_."

Bulma shook her head, her short blue-green locks waving back and forth with the movement. "I think we need to start from square one," she prompted gently.

Videl nodded, and proceeded to relay the story from the beginning. She started with the notice of the Red Shark Gang's leader escaping prison under mysterious circumstances, then to the call from the police station earlier that day. She explained her arrival, easily handling of the inept thugs, and ended with a painful recounting of what she could remember of the brief battle with the Boss.

Gohan picked up from there, mentioning the odd double-sense and Fusion-like voice of the man. He gave details of his own fight, and what he could remember of the vague dialogue he had with the second presence after knocking out his opponent.

Bulma paced nervously across the carpet as they talked, the soap opera playing ignored on the TV behind her.

Vegeta stared at Gohan with his usual piercing gaze. "You're sure both power levels were coming from the same person?"

"I'm sure," he replied, nodding. "I was right in his face, and until the very end both powers were coming from his body. Once I felt the second _ki_ fade away, it was just the one normal reading."

"I couldn't tell for sure from this distance, but what I did feel from your opponent was nothing strong enough to be concerned about," Vegeta said dismissively. "As for what this disembodied voice told you after you fought, if you ask me it just sounds like a crackpot story. There is no way in the galaxy that anyone that powerful could sneak onto this planet without me noticing it."

"I'm not so sure," Gohan said, shaking his head. "I remember several times during the fight where he shouted things that made it sound like he had fought against humans before, plus what he said about waiting for 'countless years.'"

Vegeta laughed once, sharply, and said, "And they just so happen to come out of the woodwork _now_, after that long?" The prince snorted. "I find it more likely that this was an isolated incident, some random escapee from the Otherworld or HFIL looking to have a last bit of fun. What you said the disembodied form looked like is quite similar to a spirit from the other planes."

Gohan didn't reply, but stood there deep in thought. What Vegeta said did make sense, but he couldn't get rid of his nagging doubt. However, the young half-breed wasn't even sure if what Vegeta said was possible. Could a spirit really escape from another plane?

There was someone he could ask to find out.

"I'm going to go pay a visit to Dende," Gohan said. "There's something fishy about this."

"I'll come with you," Videl stated firmly.

Vegeta snorted his opinion of the Guardian. "Good luck getting anything out of that green pipsqueak," he said. Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked off.

Bulma just shrugged and dropped back onto the couch, her attention returning to the soap opera just in time to see the ending credits begin to scroll. "Oh, drat!" she said sourly. "Now I'll never find out whether or not Aaron found out that Mike knew Timothy was cheating on Cindy!"

Gohan smiled, turning to look sidelong at Videl. "If only _our_ problems were so simple."

"I heard that, mister!"

-- --- --

The sun was tracing its slow path across the sky towards early afternoon when Doctor Brynn entered the large research lab in the West City Museum. Two lab assistants followed him in, and the three regarded the unopened crate sitting on one of the lab tables.

"Well, lets get to work," the doctor said, rubbing his hands together. He was feeling the usual excitement of being able to start work on a fresh new project.

The two lab assistants grabbed crowbars and pried open the wooden container. They reached inside and lifted out the makeshift burlap stretcher, setting it down on a second stainless steel table. This table had a maze of devices hanging above it, from simple lamps to a multi-million zenni automated analysis unit.

"Now then," Brynn said, "first thing's first." He reached out and began to unwrap the heavy cloth. "Let's get a look at what we're working with." He removed the final fold, revealing the orb. It looked the same as it had when it was removed from beneath the mountain days before, the swirls of black and white haze still twisting lazily underneath the surface. The three occupants of the room just stared for a few minutes, entranced by the sight. The doctor shook his head, the first to break out of his daze. "My, how interesting," he muttered. Long experience with unusual artifacts helped him resist the temptation to reach out and touch the enthralling globe. Most new finds were as fragile as they were valuable. You could never be too careful.

Tearing his gaze away, still with some difficulty, he reached up to pull down the sophisticated analysis machine that was wired over the table. An expensive collection of the best sensors and scanners grant money could buy, all rolled into a single machine, he pulled it down over the orb and turned it on. The large device was shaped like a lid that fit down over the whole of the table. After Dr. Brynn punched a few buttons on the control pad, the soft hums and clicks from the machine were the only sounds in the room. The doctor and assistants continued to gaze with mystified expressions through the small viewing window, straight into the depths of the orb.

They didn't know how long it was before they realized that they were staring at the artifact. One by one, the three men jerked as if waking up from a standing sleep, and glanced at one another with odd expressions. The sensor machine was still humming away, the full scan the doctor had set it for not scheduled to be done until sometime the next day.

"Well, that's all we can do for now," the doctor said, looking to the two assistants in turn. "Let's get back to work on those fossils from up north, shall we?" Without another word, the three walked out, leaving the scanner to do its work alone. It wasn't until some time later that the three men, after walking into another lab on the outer wall of the building, realized that they had been gazing silently at the orb until the evening sun had begun to fall below the horizon.

-- --- --

The familiar sight of the Lookout took shape as Gohan and Videl ascended into the sky. Two well-recognized figures stood waiting just outside the central pavilion as the teenage duo landed on the pristine white tiles.

Were Dende not a good two feet shorter than Gohan, the demi-Saiyan may well have grabbed his childhood friend in a bear hug. As it was, he settled on stretching down to clap the young Namekian on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Dende!"

"You too, Gohan," the young guardian replied, beaming up at him. "Now that you're on summer vacation, maybe you can manage to visit me a bit more often," he said with a wink.

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" Gohan observed.

"It's my job not to," the overseer laughed.

"Hey, Mr. Popo!" Gohan called, turning to wave at the plump genie.

"It's good to see you're well, Gohan. And you, Miss Videl," the short figure replied in his low, cheerful tone.

Dende's bright expression dimmed several watts when he turned to face Videl. "I'm glad to see you're safe, Videl," he said, the events from earlier in the day going far from unnoticed by the astute Namek.

The young woman just nodded politely with a soft smile, still not quite used to being on a first name basis with the Guardian of the Earth.

Gohan's smile faded to a serious expression in the moments of silence that followed. He opened his mouth to speak when the green guardian raised a hand to stop him.

"I know why you're here, Gohan," he said gravely. "I felt what was going on. But to be honest, I'm not sure what answers I have to give you. I'll help in any way I can."

The somber tone of his young friend brought even more questions to mind, but he nodded his understanding. "I'm curious, Dende. I know that even when people don't retain their bodies when they die, they still exist in spirit in the Otherworld. Is it possible for a spirit to escape from the Otherworld and return to this world?"

The young Namekian paused in thought. "Well, you'd have to ask King Yemma for a definite answer, but as far as I know, it's unlikely. The simplest way to put it is that bodies are the natural form of existence in this world, and spirits are the natural form of existence in Otherworld. While special cases can allow some people – like your father – to retain their bodies in Otherworld as a reward, a spirit doesn't have an easy time in the normal world." He paused again, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose a spirit might be able to exist for a short time here, but without a body, it would quickly dissipate and be sent back to the Otherworld. But it's not a short trip from one world to the other, to say the least. It would be all but impossible for a spirit from Otherworld to make the journey before it dissipated."

Gohan chewed on that information for a long minute, his sharp mind now working overtime.

"Mr. Guardian…" Videl spoke up while her companion was lost in thought.

"Call me Dende, Videl," the young Namek said with a grin. "No need to be so formal. I'm actually younger than you are, remember?"

"Sorry," she apologized, smiling slightly. "I just don't want to be rude."

"Oh, no worries about that. After all, I seem to recall your father addressing me as 'little green dude' more than anything," he said.

Videl clapped a hand over her mouth, but couldn't stifle a laugh. "I suppose I can't get much worse than that, huh?" She was silent for a moment, then remembered her question. "I was wondering, if a soul _did_ make it here to Earth, what would it be able to do before dissipating?" She may not have been as used to talk of souls and dimensions as the others around her, but her natural intellect was as keen and curious as ever. Gohan glanced up from his inner thoughts to listen.

Dende blinked. "I hadn't given much thought to that," he said. "It wouldn't be able to physically affect anything on its own, of course, but it might be able to inhabit an already existing body, if the soul were strong enough."

Something in Gohan's mind clicked, like the pieces of a puzzle suddenly slipping into place. "That's it," he said softly. "That's why the Red Sharks' Boss seemed like he had multiple personalities… and why I felt that second _ki_ sense from him!" A smile spread on his face as he saw the picture come together. "A stray spirit must have gotten to him. How, I don't know… but it makes sense."

"Dende," Videl asked, her voice growing excited from Gohan's infectious enthusiasm, "what do you think would happen when a soul possessed a body?"

Yet again, the guardian paused in thought. "I can't say for sure. It hasn't happened very often, to my knowledge. It would all depend on the spirit I suppose. It might just sit around inside the body, able to access the senses and knowledge of the body it occupies, and just kind of remain there unnoticed. Or, if the spirit were strong enough, it might be able to exert control over the body, possess it and take it for its own and essentially live again."

The two teenagers seemed to ponder the Namekian's explanation. A lengthy silence ensued as they lost themselves in thought, until Dende coughed lightly to get their attention. "Ah, was there anything else?" he asked.

They looked up, realizing the impoliteness of their reverie. "Sorry," Gohan said with an embarrassed smile. "I guess we should try to do our thinking on our own time."

"It's no problem," the Namek chuckled. "I don't get much company up here, besides Mr. Popo of course. No offense," he amended with a glance to the genie.

The unflappable caretaker dismissed the comment with a smile and a wave.

"I guess there is something else," Gohan said. "When I talked to that escaped soul that had been in the Boss' body," he said, figuring it was safe to assume that as a fact now, "it mentioned that there were more of its kind, and that we would know them when they appeared. If escape from the Otherworld is so difficult, how could that be?"

Dende frowned. "More of its kind? You're sure that's what it said?"

Gohan thought back, just to be sure. "Positive. It said that they would rise again, and that they wouldn't be friendly."

The young Namek contemplated that wording. For some reason, he found his thoughts turning to the Guardian's Journal, and the strange dead language that comprised the earliest accounts of Earth's Guardians. _They would rise again_… But he shook off the thought. Piccolo would have told him he was being foolish. "I'm not sure what to make of that," he said at last, without conviction. "Maybe it just wanted to give you something to think about other than beating it up?"

Videl raised an eyebrow at the Guardian's uncertain offering. "Yeah, but it said this _after_ it had abandoned the gangster's body," she observed, with the beginnings of an all too familiar look of tenacity. She could smell a secret like a bloodhound, as Gohan was well aware, and could sense a half-truth better than her crime fighting partner could sense _ki_. It was not in her nature to let such things go without comment. "Gohan thought it sounded more like a warning. We were hoping you might be able to shed a bit more light on that possibility."

"I'm afraid I can't," Dende said honestly, finding it tough to keep an impassive face under her piercing gaze. _Not without sounding like the paranoid worry-wart Piccolo accuses me of being,_ he thought, beginning to sweat under the collar as Videl's ice-blue eyes bored into him. He gulped and tried to smile reassuringly. He only half succeeded. "Trying to match this incident with anything concrete I know of Earth history is a bit beyond my expertise," Dende said. He figured that was a true enough statement.

Videl's eyes continued to burn into him for a few more moments, but then she must have remembered exactly who it was she was pressing for information. She looked away, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It wasn't something you saw on her face every day. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off like that," she said.

Dende exhaled in relief. Guardian or not, he didn't envy anyone who came under _that_ stare. "No need to apologize. I get that a lot from Piccolo, too."

From there, the talk shifted to more casual conversation. They talked for a while almost as if they were normal teenaged friends, despite the fact that their discussion group was comprised of the Guardian of Earth, arguably the most powerful warrior in the universe, and the crime-fighting daughter of a world-renowned celebrity, who could make any lesser being – and many greater ones – quake in their shoes with a glance.

It was well into evening by the time Gohan and Videl said their goodbyes, after promising to visit more often. The horizon stretched out far ahead of them as they took off from the Lookout and headed down towards solid ground. The fiery light of sunset burnished the landscape as they flew back towards civilization.

"What a way to kick off the summer," Gohan sighed.

"Yeah. What are we going to do with all this spare time on our hands?" Videl asked playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

Though that was not exactly what he had been thinking about, Gohan smiled. He looked back at her, but the look in her azure eyes made him blush. He hoped Videl wouldn't notice, but he had no such luck.

She laughed; a light, carefree sound, and did a dizzying corkscrew right around him. "Now, Gohan, don't be getting any wild ideas. Scheming doesn't suit you."

"I wasn't scheming. I was just wondering what _you_ were scheming," he retorted, boring into her with a stare of his own. He was rewarded with a glimpse of rosy color rising to her cheeks.

"That's the nice thing about long vacations," she said. "We can spend all the time we want figuring out what to do, and still have time to do it. One thing is for sure already, though."

"What's that?"

In Gohan's eyes, the smile on her face would have put the noonday sun to shame. "If nothing else, spending a whole summer with you sure won't be dull."

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Next chapter: _Examinations_


	12. Chapter Twelve: Examinations

**Chapter Twelve**

**Examinations**

The comprehensive results from the thorough scan on the artifact had been completed and reviewed, all of the data catalogued and analyzed. A team of researchers and their assistants had spent nearly a week since the first analysis going forwards and backwards over the data. They were now coming to an important realization: they had more new questions than they had answers.

Dr. Brynn, who had been leading the research efforts from day one, threw his pen down on the table in disgust. He sat back, rubbing his tired eyes. "This is turning fascination into frustration," he grumbled to his colleagues, who had joined him around the table for the morning meeting. For the sixth day in a row his hopes that a good night's sleep might shed some light on the research were dashed. Another three hours, four pots of coffee, and four scientific minds full of theories had gone by, all for naught.

Well, maybe it wasn't quite that bad. They had figured out a few more things that the artifact was_ not._ Like a baseball. Or a grapefruit.

"Think outside the box" was the mantra Dr. Brynn applied to his profession. When in doubt, all a good researcher had to do was think of something progressively crazier until they would find the answer. However, as a scientist by profession and a human by nature, he could never bring himself to discard the rules and physics of the world that he perceived. Oh, there was always the maverick new theory that came along every few years and broke through to expand the established perceptions of science, but even that was a morbidly slow process. The underlying problem was that even as scientists thought "outside the box," they failed to notice the closed crate the box was stored in. As far as they were concerned, the box was it. It had to be.

But it wasn't, and they were blind to it. Blind not only to the true, borderless nature of reality, but to their own unseeing gaze. They were blind men who wholeheartedly believed that there was no such thing as sight. They could not even realize they were handicapped, because as far as they were concerned, the handicap did not – _could_ not – exist.

"If this wasn't so damned interesting, I would just give up now," grumbled the youngest researcher, Dr. Timms. He was a firebrand young scientist, just into his thirties and recently privileged with a position at the West City Museum. "Who knew a ball of rock could be so intriguing?"

"We don't even know if it's a bloody rock," Dr. Jeeves replied in his deep English accent. He was an archaeological expert spending some time abroad working at the museum, taking advantage of the vigor of his late forties. His razor-sharp wits had long since put to rest the jokes of affiliating his name and accent with those of a butler.

The fourth researcher sitting at the table was Dr. Aginn. He was a wizened former trailblazer who was now approaching the time for retirement, and reception of international awards for his extensive works in archaeology and geology. "Gentlemen, there is no such thing as a question without an answer. There are only answers we haven't considered yet." What would perhaps be interpreted as a simple aphorism from most, the statement seemed to subdue the palpable frustration in the room when coming from the elderly scientist.

"Right, then," Dr. Brynn sat up straighter, readying for another round of mental exercise. He was an average man in most respects. Not old, not young; not exceptionally bright for his field, but neither was he below the norm. Even his appearance was the incarnation of the average scientist: tall, lanky, balding, with glasses perched prominently on his nose, and an assortment of pens protruding from the pocket of his white lab coat. "Let's keep going. We can't allow ourselves to be stumped by a rock, now can we?"

"We still don't _know_ if it's a rock," Dr. Jeeves repeated, though this time with a more jocular tone, as well as a faint smile. The four men shared a subdued chuckle that nonetheless drained most of the remaining tension from the atmosphere.

"Well, the process of elimination is obviously not working," Dr. Timms observed. The group had spent the last several fruitless days on finding out what the artifact was not, in hopes of narrowing down the possibilities of what it was. "Let's start from square one again. What do we know for sure?"

The four men shuffled through the piles of printouts and charts until they found the sheets outlining the results from the scanning machinery. Dozens of pages, filled with details and formulas that all eventually boiled down to a few simple facts. The artifact was made of no substance ever seen before, which eliminated the possibility of using carbon dating to any accurate degree. It emitted a faint electromagnetic signature that, while it had never been seen before, resembled in passing the magnetic seals used in laboratories to keep areas static- and particle-free. The machine could make no distinction between an outer surface that was apparently solid, and an inner content that was slowly shifting like unsettled oil suspended in water. The artifact was amazingly smooth, and a perfect sphere, as a laser scan revealed not even miniscule deviations. The fact that the lattermost information was the least baffling, considering the orb had been sitting under a mountain since long before mankind was capable of any such detailed craftsmanship, was not much comfort.

The scientists reviewed these facts with practiced diligence, trying to discern some clue from the mounds of unknown data. For another two hours, they pursued their goal, until at last they gave up and broke for lunch.

All four departed for various eateries, but all had the same thought creeping into their consciousness. If they wanted some concrete answers, they were going to have to use more than scanners and fancy equipment. It was fast becoming time for a more hands-on approach.

-- --- --

The first week of summer vacation had already come and gone, giving apparent truth to the adage that "time flies when you're having fun." Gohan was relishing the return to something that close resembled the better parts of the first seventeen years of his life. Idle mornings spent lounging around the house after waking up to Chi-Chi's exceptional cooking. Lazy sun-soaked afternoons with Goten spent exploring the expansive wilderness around their mountain home until lunch. Evenings spent with family, lounging around the house after a copious dinner, sharing stories of a blissfully uneventful day or tuning in to a decent movie on one of the few television stations they managed to pick up out in the middle of nowhere.

When the mailman delivered final grades from Orange Star High School that Friday, he had commented pleasantly on how he wished they would get mail more often, so he could have an excuse to visit the countryside.

Chi-Chi had opened the officious-looking envelope with a neutral look. She then spent most of the remainder of the day dancing around the house with a downright dazzled air, her atmospheric expectations surpassed by Gohan's marks in school. So great was the overbearing matron's euphoria, she had told Gohan flat out that he didn't have to study a single book all summer if he didn't want to.

_Not a bad way to start my vacation,_ the teenaged demi-Saiyan thought with contentment. He lay on a grassy embankment near one of the lakes that were scattered around their house, letting the warm sun wash over him as he studied the clouds floating lazily above through half-closed eyes. Part of him was still enjoying the simple fact that it was Sunday, and he didn't have school tomorrow.

His sensitive ears picked up the faint rustling sound of grass blades turned by a footstep. Suppressing his old combat reflexes at the sense of the approaching predator, he feigned ignorance to its approach. The soft footfalls continued until he wagered they were a mere dozen feet away, then an earsplitting battle-cry echoed through the surrounding hills. "YAAAAHHHH!!!!"

He leapt up with fluid grace, snagging the barreling mass of orange-clad ambusher in midair. The tiny form yelped with surprise, struggling valiantly. A mass of wild, spiked black hair thrashed around under Gohan's nose until the teen graced the proffered skull with a set of rubbing knuckles.

"AHHHH!!! No fair! No nouggies!" the impish young boy squealed.

After maintaining the playful punishment for a few more seconds, Gohan dropped the defeated sibling down with a laugh. "You're gonna have to try harder than that to sneak up on me, squirt."

"Yeah, but I'll get you sometime." Goten rubbed his head, but an infectious smile was brightening his face. "Then I get to give _you_ the nouggies!" he chirped.

"That's the way it works, bro. So, you enjoying the summer so far?"

"Yeah!" the young boy exclaimed, punctuating the statement by hopping up on his brother's shoulder, perching there like a large orange and black bird. "It's great having you around all the time again, Gohan."

"Same to you, squirt. Hey, it's almost lunch time, isn't it?"

It might have seemed impossible, but the younger half-Saiyan's grin widened even further at the mention of food. "It sure is!" Goten might not catch everything that went his way, but when it came to food, his internal clock was as good as anyone with Saiyan blood in their veins. "I'll race you!" Without waiting for a response, the youngster leapt off his brother's shoulder and sped off towards home.

With another laugh at his brother's unquenchable happiness, Gohan chased after him. They wove through one of the many wild paths that led to their house, winding between thick trees, over scattered streams, and effortlessly leaping small ponds. The familiar faded yellow dome of their house came into view, followed by the unmistakable scent of a meal nearing completion.

Gohan noticed a few extra figures hanging around the household. Goten was standing outside the door, leaping up and down and waving his arms at his approaching brother in the elation of his victory. His usual partner in crime, the lavender-haired form of Trunks, was observing his friend's outburst with a mixture of calculated disdain and suppressed desire to join in on the display. The source of his restraint, the spike-haired form of Vegeta, was leaning against the wall of the house, eyes narrowed but as alert and observant as ever. The tall, shapely figure of Bulma Briefs stood conversing with Goku. Gohan slowed to a halt at the gathering, waving his greetings.

"Hey, son," Goku called with a wave, omnipresent smile affixed to his face. "You're just in time for lunch."

"I beat you! I beat you!" Goten sang out before the teenager could reply.

"Sure did, bro," said Gohan, bending down to tousle his brother's hair. "Hey, Trunks."

The other boy nodded his greeting with a faint smile. Though Trunks often acted far more reserved when Vegeta was around, the little imp was obviously straining to keep his happiness in check. His face was wavering on the verge of an outburst like Goten's. Gohan didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

"Gohan! Just the young man I wanted to see!" Bulma greeted happily.

Small warning bells began going off in the back of his head. He now had a sinking suspicion about what Trunks was so happy about. "Hey, Bulma. What's up?"

"We've got a little favor to ask of you," she replied. "I've been talking with the research and development lab that was responsible for making that microfabric I showed you. They suggested I come down to take a look at their work firsthand, to see if there was anything else I could help figure out about it. In an unprecedented sign of interest, the walking ego suggested he come along with me," she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the form of her significant other.

"I determined that this laboratory meant there was a possibility of intelligent life on this rock, and wanted to investigate," Vegeta said. "It's the most promising sign I've seen in fifteen years, after all."

Bulma rolled her eyes, but didn't rise to the bait. "I figured that if he was going to come along willingly, we might as well make a trip of it." That elicited a snort from the prince, expressing his appraisal of 'making a trip of it.' "So, we're going to take a little extra time and get away from board meetings and gravity chambers, and Goku and Chi-Chi are going to come along. A little vacation could do all of us some good."

Gohan nodded. Now he knew why Trunks was struggling at the reigns. "And, you need me to keep an eye on the dynamic duo," he supplied, tilting his head at the pair of hyperactive demi-Saiyans.

"Right in one," Bulma confirmed, her smile broadening. "Don't worry though. I've already got a good idea for tomorrow," she said, her tone becoming conspiratorial. Gohan suppressed the urge to run in fear. Bulma in a mischievous mood was every bit as dangerous as Goten and Trunks could be on their worst days.

"Oh? What's that?" Gohan asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Well, as opposed to locking yourself in a house with these two, we figured you could do better with some fresh air. It just so happens that Capsule Corporation has a private box at the West City baseball field, and tomorrow is opening day. A nice ballgame to watch, and enough catered food to keep even three half-Saiyans occupied."

"Not a bad idea," Gohan admitted. "Provided I can keep them from destroying the stadium."

Though it was meant as a joke, Bulma turned to the pair of young troublemakers, hands on her hips, and leveled her best threatening gaze on them. While not quite up to Chi-Chi's standards, it was plenty to turn both boys into attentive statues.

"I had better not hear of you two making trouble in public like that. If we hear about any demolished sports arenas, Trunks," she said warningly, "you will get nothing but bread and water for a _week_."

"The same goes for you, Goten!" a threatening voice called from inside. Chi-Chi, attending to the kitchen, had nonetheless been listening to the conversation with her keen maternal senses.

Gohan grinned at the two boys, who were noticeably subdued and nodding their understanding with terrified looks on their faces. When it came to Saiyan children, an ounce of prevention was worth a hundred tons of cure.

Bulma's gaze softened out as she turned back to Gohan. "Thanks for your help, Gohan, we appreciate it. You'll only have to deal with them for a couple of days. Feel free to stay at Capsule Corp. if you like. It's easier to get the heavy machinery to repair the damage those two are bound to cause there than it is out here."

"No prob. I'll make sure they keep the planet in one piece. If not, there's always the Dragonballs," he joked. With Goten and Trunks, though, you never knew.

"Oh, one other thing," Bulma said, her smile turning almost devilish. "You'll need all the help you can get with these two, and the suite at the stadium has plenty of extra room. Why don't you invite Videl along?" she said, elbowing Gohan in the ribs.

Vegeta, sensing where the conversation was going, rolled his eyes and butted in. "Woman, I don't know what is worse. Your incessant nagging, or your insistence upon nagging when I can smell a meal three feet away. You can resume torturing the brat later. Now, we eat."

"Hrmph," the genius scoffed as she rounded on the Saiyan prince, folding her arms and turning up her nose. "I do not _nag_," she protested. "And since when do you 'eat?' I thought you just _inhaled_."

A single black eyebrow rose. "I only inhale my food when _you_ do the cooking. That way, I don't allow the sickening tastes to linger in my mouth."

"Well then, perhaps you could do better," she shot back, the corner of her mouth curving in an impressive grin that came off as both playful and challenging.

"It wouldn't be hard. Even so, perhaps I can continue to suffer in silence," he stated, voice betraying no sense of surrender with the remark.

Before Bulma had a chance to continue their verbal spar, the prince turned smartly on his heel and walked inside. Shrugging off the discussion, the rest of the crowd followed inside, ready to enjoy a meal as only two families full of Saiyans could.

-- --- --

The four scientists returned to the cramped staff room after lunch, setting up around the same circular table covered in a mass of papers. They talked idly for a few minutes, warming back up to serious thought like athletes stretching before a workout.

"Well, let's get back to the task at hand," Dr. Brynn said, returning the group of intellectuals to the still-baffling puzzle of the enigmatic orb sitting in the adjacent room. "Did anyone have any breakthroughs during lunch?" It was asked partly as a joke, but the scientists around the table all turned quiet and thoughtful at the remark.

It was uncomfortably silent until Dr. Aginn spoke up. "I think it's time we realized that technology can only get us so far when examining artifacts, and in this case, it's not nearly far enough." He paused to look around the table. All the scientists were listening. All of them had been thinking along the same lines for a while now, but the elderly Dr. Aginn had been the first to come out and say it. "I know the museum prefers to keep artifacts intact and preserved for display, but the usual methods have proven almost useless on the orb. I think it's time we tried to get inside the artifact, and find out what makes it tick."

"The curators will not be pleased if we ruin a perfectly good display piece," Dr. Jeeves pointed out, stepping up for the necessary role of devil's advocate.

"Of course, but how do we know if what we see now is even the true interest of the orb?" Aginn replied reasonably. "We've relied too much on technology in recent years to tell us what is and isn't special about historical finds. If we do the same here, we end up placing a nice-looking ball on a podium with a blank placard for visitors to gawk at."

"I agree, doctor," Timms spoke up. "If we're to find anything worthwhile about this piece, we need to open it up and see what is inside. It's quite likely that what we see now is just a fancy container to some unknown contents. It could be anything from an urn to a coin purse, but we won't find out by endlessly scanning it with no results."

"Well, it has to be said," Jeeves stated with resignation. "What if we crack open this nutshell and find ourselves with nothing more than two split halves of an ancient stone? The museum would be furious."

Dr. Brynn snorted at that, saying, "The museum doesn't care what it looks like on display, so long as it brings tourists and publicity. Even if it is just a rock, it might look even better on the inside. If not, who would know that it was in one piece in the first place? No one expects ancient relics to be in such pristine condition."

"Very well, then." Jeeves nodded his assent, his conscience satisfied.

"So it's settled?" Aginn asked rhetorically. He received nods from his colleagues all the same. "Good. I see no need to waste time, then. Let's hop to it."

A bit taken aback by his enthusiasm, the other three scientists rose and followed the elderly expert into the lab. Upon seeing the orb set atop one of the lab desks, their doubts were pushed aside at the thoughts of the discoveries they were about to make.

Hands-on research at its finest was about to unwittingly test the belief that some things, once forgotten, had best stay that way.

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Next chapter: _Going, Going, Gone_


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Going, Going, Gone

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Going, Going, Gone**

Gohan woke up early on Monday morning, eyes opening to the natural beauty of dawn through the window of his wilderness home. Part of him wanted to just lay there and go back to sleep, another part wanted to wake up and enjoy the morning, and yet another relished the fact that it was Monday, he was waking up early, and he didn't even have to.

With a morning yawn, he sat up and stretched, deciding to spite the old habits of school days and be up early of his own volition. He proceeded to the bathroom for his morning routine, then pulled on the comfortable blue training tunic and loose-fitting pants he wore when lounging around the house. He did a double-take at the sight of the living room when he walked in. It looked almost like a clothing store that had forgotten to buy racks for its wares. Every piece of furniture was piled with folded garments of uncountable colors and designs. He noticed several large empty suitcases set on the floor, awaiting their filling with the travel goods spread about the room.

_For the love of Dende, I thought they were only going to be gone two days!_ Gohan thought as he gawked at the collection. His thoughts were interrupted when his mother walked in, arms loaded with yet another pile of clothes and accessories that rose a foot over her head. She placed the tower of clothing down, then glanced around to see her eldest son.

"Good morning, Gohan," she said briskly. "I should never have put off packing until the morning, so careless of me. I just know I'll forget something!" She hustled off in the direction of her and Goku's bedroom before Gohan could reply, undoubtedly in search of another pile of things to pack.

"How can you forget something if you take the whole house with you?" Gohan muttered. His mother may have been an obsessive worrier and owner of the planet's most fiery temper, not to mention the world's greatest chef by volume _and_ quality, but one thing was certain: she had no idea what a vacation was. He couldn't really blame her. Through her life, the poor woman had gone from princess of a mountain encased in flames, to a competitor in the World Martial Arts Tournament, to wife of the tournament's champion, to widowed mother of two ravenous half-Saiyans, and right back to wife and mother all over again. Now that he thought about it, Gohan couldn't recall a single day over the last twenty years Chi-Chi had spent doing anything but caring for her family. Once again, he boggled at his mother's incomparable spirit, to be able to survive what she had for so long. He couldn't fault her for worrying so much over a simple thing like a two-day vacation. After all, it was in her nature.

_If she were smart, she'd be gone for a year to make up for lost time. Then again, a year with Goten and Trunks not under threat of the frying pan and there wouldn't be anything left to come home to,_ he thought ruefully.

Gohan ambled into the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast, knowing it was best not to disturb Chi-Chi in her current mood. He just needed to get a little something to tide him over; his mother would undoubtedly prepare the usual feast for her three boys when she was done packing. He checked the wall clock, which read just after seven in the morning. He decided to wait a little while longer before calling Videl about the baseball game later that day.

-- --- --

As it turned out, Gohan need not have waited to call. Videl was already wide awake, roused by the same internal clock that the school year had bred. It was ironic that now that school was out, they acquiesced and woke up early. It was so much easier to get a bright start to the day when you actually wanted to.

After waking up shortly after six, she had worked through her own morning routine and then proceeded down into her private training room. She was currently going through her regular exercises on automatic, while her mind wandered.

The start of the summer had been almost as uneventful for the young woman as it had for her partner in crime-fighting. She had received her final grades from Orange Star on Friday, more than happy with a set of excellent marks. She figured Gohan had scored somewhere in the stratosphere, but she could live with A's that weren't quadruple digits. She made a mental note to thank him for the study session the weekend before finals… and the countless numbers of similar meetings the two had shared before then, for that matter.

By conspicuous coincidence with the start of her vacation, Hercule had wrangled the entire weekend prior free from meetings, publicity stunts, press conferences, commercial shoots, and all of the boisterous showboat's usual rigmarole. In a touching, albeit occasionally annoying, show of fatherly affection, he insisted on spending the entire weekend with his daughter. It had been a pleasant change of pace to sit down with her father to do something as simple as watch a movie together, and it hadn't even been a tape from one of his old tournaments.

She couldn't help but be happy about the past weekend. Though by any stretch of the imagination she had not had the closest father-daughter relationship over the last seven years, she noticed a slow change in Hercule's parenting approach ever since the catastrophe of Majin Buu. Indeed, she suspected a good deal of the champion's change in demeanor stemmed from the presence of the childish pink creature in their expansive mansion.

While still not quite accustomed to having a monster she observed devouring the entire population of a city that had been turned into jawbreakers living under the same roof, the Satan Mansion had ample room to spare. In fact, her opinion of Buu had received an early boost after he had spent the majority of his first week in the house turning several of Hercule's vainglorious busts and sculptures into various sweets. The hit her father's ego had taken had been almost comical when he saw his favorite artwork being transformed into chocolate bars.

Videl absently registered the distinctive ripping sound of another sand-filled punching bag succumbing to her morning exercise. Walking away and grabbing a towel from the rack to dab off the light sweat she had worked up, she reminded herself again that she needed to look into getting something more durable for her training room. Her father had actually noticed when she started going through two dozen of the practice bags every week. They were a pain to clean up, too.

After showering off the small effort of the morning, she dressed in her usual skin-tight black pants, pink shirt, and baggy white over shirt and headed to the kitchen. The mansion's staff were just getting to work as the hour approached eight, and she accepted a plate of toast and a glass of orange juice from one of the cooks with a smile. "Thanks, Tom. Have a good weekend?"

"Wonderful, Miss Videl, thank you. I heard Mister Satan cleared his calendar for a nice weekend at home. I see you at least survived the ordeal," he said with a chuckle. Hercule's change of heart had not quite yet extended to the hired help, meaning he was still not exactly popular with his servants. However, wagers were being placed on shortening odds for which employee's name he would remember first. Tom, being the champion's personal cook, was on a five-to-one for getting called by his actual name within a month. Videl had put ten zenni on him, as she had never been able to resist joining in on the staffers' subtle rebellion against their torment– ah, _employ_er.

"Yeah, we both made it through intact. And I didn't even have to put the sedatives in his drinks. Tell Mary thanks for that idea though, if you see her," she winked and headed for the table as Tom chuckled before getting back to work. She picked up the day's newspaper and grabbed for the sports section.

_Opening day for baseball today_, she noted while munching on her toast. Videl had a passing affection for the sport, and while most of her athletic efforts were devoted to martial arts, it wasn't hard to keep track of the standings for anyone with a morning paper. Her mind wandered back towards the beginning of the last school year, almost an eternity ago it seemed, on that day when she had seen Gohan leap twenty-five feet in the air to snag Sharpner's would-be home run. _New shoes_, she thought, suppressing the urge to laugh with her mouth full. _If I had known then what I do now…_

After finishing with her breakfast, she headed back up to her room. Flopping down on her oversized four-poster bed, she stretched out and turned on the television. Having caught most of the sports with the paper, she settled on a morning news channel. _Can't hurt to know what's going on in the world,_ she thought. She paused for a moment, and almost burst out laughing at herself. _Gohan is rubbing off on me a bit _too_ much, I think. Not that I really mind…_

Her thoughts drifted while she half-watched the TV screen. _Boy, this "early to rise" stuff isn't all it's cracked up to be,_ she thought wryly, after noticing her clock/radio reading 8:45.

Her musings were interrupted by the sudden ringing of her telephone. A smile lit up her face as she reached over to pick it up. Only two people had this particular number, and one of them wouldn't be awake at this hour for anything short of an international one-hundred-percent-off clothing sale. She almost started off with a normal greeting as she brought up the cordless receiver, but then a wicked smile crossed her lips. She decided to have a little fun.

"Hello there," she whispered seductively into the phone. Though it sounded rather odd, considering Videl wasn't one to use such a tone of voice often, the words had the desired effect on the caller.

"_Ah, h-h-hello_?" Gohan's voice replied nervously. She could clearly picture his face: frowning in a mix of embarrassment, confusion, with a healthy dose of rising red in his cheeks thrown in.

"Now who could be calling me so early? I'm _so_ inappropriately dressed right now…" she cooed.

"_Oh- I, uh… Sorry for, ah… Didn't mean to, ah—_" he stammered.

It was hard to keep from bursting out laughing, but she did, somehow. "Aren't you going to tell me who this is? I'd like to know who I'm talking to while I'm standing here wearing nothing but—"

"_OhI'msorrywrongnumbergottagobye_." Dial tone.

Videl stared at the receiver for a moment, then dropped the phone and burst out in hysterical laughter. She was rolling around on the bed in side-splitting gasps until her chest began to burn, when she realized the phone was ringing again. Trying to get a good breath, she picked up the receiver and pressed the talk button again.

"Hello?" she answered, as normally as she could with her sides still almost split from laughter.

"_Ah… Videl?_" Gohan said, his voice almost as nervous as she had ever heard it.

"Hi, Gohan. Is something wrong? You sound a little funny." She covered the receiver as she couldn't quite hold back a snicker.

"_I just, uh, got a wrong number the first time I called. Don't ask._"

She wasn't about to let him go that easily. "Oh? Where did you call? A phone sex line or something?"

For a long moment, there was only silence from the other end of the line. "_Oh, of course not… uh… Why, that would just be, ah, weird…_" he said at last, punctuating his statement with a nervous laugh.

_He's such a horrible liar,_ she thought with a smile. She turned her voice to a stern bark, not unlike the one she used whenever she wanted to grill someone for information. This voice she'd had _excellent_ practice with. "Now, Gohan, don't lie to me. I've been wondering why it's taken so long for you to call me today. Did you spend a little too long talking to someone _else_? On, oh, a _wrong number_?"

"_No, no, Videl!_" Gohan's voice squeaked back in a dead panic. Priceless. "_I got a wrong number, and yes, the person was a little… weird… but I hung up after a few seconds! Really!_"

"Hrmph…" she paused, picturing the terrified expression on the poor boy's face. "I believe you," she said at last. The sigh of relief from the other end was audible. "Well, anyway, what's up?" she asked, a broad self-congratulating grin still affixed to her face from the prank.

"_Well_," he replied, his voice at last steady, "_I talked to Bulma yesterday. She and Vegeta are going with mom and dad on a little vacation for a couple of days, to visit one of her R&D labs. That means I get the privilege of ensuring the dynamic duo don't obliterate the planet while they're gone. We've got a good plan to keep the two terrors busy for at least today," _he explained."_You know it's opening day for the West City Dragons, right?_"

"Of course. I was going to watch the game on TV if I didn't have anything better to do," she said. Her voice gave the distinct impression that, by the end of this phone call, she hoped to have something better to do.

"_I'll do you one better. Bulma gave us tickets for Capsule Corporation's private luxury suite for the game_."

Another girl might have given a shrill shriek of excitement, but Videl pumped a fist. "All right!" she shouted. "That's awesome, Gohan!"

"_Glad to hear it!_" he replied, happy that the plan met with her approval. "_The game is at four o'clock, so we've got plenty of time. Mom, dad, Bulma, and Vegeta are leaving about noon, if my mom ever finishes packing everything she owns._" The last bit was whispered so low, she could barely hear it. Obviously, Chi-Chi was within the eavesdropping danger zone. Namely, the same continent.

"But you said they're only going for a couple of days," Videl said, her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"_Yeah, but mom is, um… playing it safe. You know her, always wanting to be prepared._"

"Riiight… Well, I might as well come by early. I'm up and ready, and there's nothing to do around here. I'll come right over, that way I'll be able to see everybody off."

"_Actually, we're going to fly over to Capsule Corp., and they're going to leave from there. I think my mom has run out of suitcases now, so why don't you meet us there in an hour or so?_"

"Right. I'll see you then, Gohan."

"'_Bye, Videl._"

Videl shut off the phone, tossed aside the receiver and hopped up from her bed, heading over to the closet. Shuffling through her extensive but rather uniform collection of clothes, she tried to pick out something at least a little different for today. She decided there was no sense in looking so drab for the baseball game. _Yeah… for the ballgame_.

-- --- --

"What in the world is this thing made of, anyway!?" Dr. Brynn exclaimed. The group of scientists had been working on the artifact for almost an entire day now. In their efforts to crack open its mysteries, they had begun slowly and carefully, trying with all their skills to open the orb without damaging it any more than they had to. Their care had been wasted, considering they had now done everything short of bashing the stubborn relic with a sledgehammer in their efforts to make a single scratch upon its surface. Though they had tried any number of tools on the deceptively tough material of the orb, and were quickly growing frustrated, they were still taking great care and thought in their work.

It might have been more practicality than superstition that led to them all wearing thick gloves while they worked, but the story they had heard of the dig director's experience when he had touched the orb with his bare hands was on their minds all the same. That particular puzzle had been a mystery in and of itself from the beginning, but now they were fully realizing that this artifact was much more than it seemed.

"One thing is for certain, this is not made of any type of rock or stone that we know of," Dr. Jeeves opined. "Another question, however, is how on Earth this material could have been sculpted so delicately. Few modern tools, let alone ancient ones, could craft a sphere of such perfection from any material this durable."

"Well, this isn't going to work," Dr. Brynn said, setting aside the hammer and chisel he had been using with frustration. "It's obvious that if we want to get it open, we're going to have to take a risk."

"What're you suggesting?" Dr. Timms asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We can't get it open with normal tools," Brynn explained. "This means if we're going to get it open at all, I think our best bet is to use the new laser drill the museum is so proud of."

"The laser drill would be as likely to damage the inner contents as it would be to open up the artifact," Dr. Aginn pointed out, frowning. "It's liable to slice right through it, no matter how tough it is."

"Yes, I know," Dr. Brynn nodded. "Something isn't right about this little ball of trouble. And if we're going to find out what it is, I say we put all our cards on the table."

There was a long pause as the other scientists considered what he was saying. If they used the drill to cut open the orb, the laser was just as capable of slicing through the unknown contents as it was the outer shell. Accepting the possibility of damage to the container was one thing. Risking damage to what they were striving to get at was another matter entirely. Still, it was obvious that if they wanted to get at the contents at all, they didn't have much choice.

"All right. I say we try it," Dr. Timms spoke first.

Dr. Jeeves sighed heavily, but nodded. "Why not?"

"Very well," Dr. Aginn said, making the vote unanimous. "It's worth a try."

"Right. Let me call down to the main lab and find out when we can get started," Brynn said. He walked over to a phone, picked it up and punched in a three-digit code. He waited for a moment as the connection went through. "Hello, this is Doctor Brynn from Artifact Studies. I was wondering when the drilling laser was available… They are?... All right then… Yes… Good, we'll be ready. Thank you." He hung up and turned back to his colleagues.

"The Fossils team is using the laser to refine some pieces of the new skeleton they're preparing for display," he explained. Though it was a drilling laser by design, the sophisticated equipment could also be used for precision crafting. "They said it will be available for us this afternoon."

"Well, might as well make the best of it," Dr. Aginn said. "If we have a few hours, we should make one last attempt to see if anything less risky can crack open this egg."

"Good idea," Jeeves seconded.

They got back to work on simpler, but hopelessly ineffective, methods of cracking open the orb. After all, they now had a whole day to spend while waiting for their appointment to tempt fate.

-- --- --

"Chi-Chi, you do realize we're only going to be gone for two days, right?" Bulma asked as she surveyed the veritable mountain of suitcases piled on the front lawn of Capsule Corp.

"Of course I do, Bulma. I just don't see any harm in being prepared, is all," the other woman replied as she checked over the luggage for the fourth time.

"You know, it's a good thing I _own_ Capsule Corp., or else we'd have spent a fortune just trying to pack all this in the airplane."

Chi-Chi leaned around the mountain of bags to level a stern glare at Bulma. "You won't be saying that if we get trapped by a snowstorm, or if the airplane breaks down, or we get caught in the rain and need a change of clothes," she said crossly, ticking off a finger on her right hand with each eventuality she listed.

Bulma lifted an eyebrow. "Well then, if we get a snowstorm in spring, both Goku and Vegeta forget how to fly, and it rains every day for the next year, I will definitely be glad you were prepared," she said.

Chi-Chi was already occupied with re-re-re-re-checking the luggage, and missed the sarcasm. "I knew you'd see sense, Bulma."

"Chi-Chi, can we please just pack everything up already? If we don't leave soon, we'll miss dinner!" Goku pleaded.

"All right, all right," his wife sighed and shook her head. "I guess we can go ahead. I just can't shake the feeling that we've forgotten something, though…" she trailed off.

Goku, Vegeta, and Bulma were not about to give her a chance to change her mind, and seized the opportunity to begin packaging the luggage into capsules as quickly as possible. Considering the two men were capable of orbiting the planet at hypersonic velocities, that was rather quickly indeed.

Gohan observed the process with a suppressed grin. His mother's consternation with the art of taking vacations was amusing, but he had a sinking suspicion that unless the other three adults managed to get the poor woman to relax a bit, they'd be coming back from a "vacation" having ripped each other to pieces. Vegeta had no doubt already gone through a year's ration of patience just waiting to leave.

The teenage demi-Saiyan was in a good mood, however, despite the looming prospect of trying to control the two most powerful troublemakers in the galaxy for two whole days. The next few hours would be the easiest, no doubt. The two boys had been spending the morning staring at the television in rapt attention to the early baseball games with enthusiasm only they could muster. Gohan thought it had more to do with the fact that the two probably hadn't seen a baseball game in their lives before today than any real interest in the sport. The young imps had frowned when they realized the bats were used to hit the ball instead of other players, and that the pitcher's goal was to strive _not_ to hit the batters when he threw the ball, but they seemed fascinated all the same.

He remembered a comment Vegeta had made when he had walked by the television earlier that day. "That sport might actually serve as good practice for reaction and coordination if those pathetic humans didn't hurl the ball so slowly." It was as close to a positive appraisal of any human sporting event not involving martial arts he had ever heard the prince make.

His thoughts were cut short as he felt a familiar _ki_ approaching. His smile broadened as he turned his gaze to the clear spring sky and caught the familiar sight of Videl descending towards the front lawn of Capsule Corp. The young woman landed on the grass, waving a greeting to the four adults, who were still trying to wrangle the last few suitcases into the bulbous yellow Capsule Corp. aircraft. She caught sight of Gohan and walked over with a wide smile.

"Hey Gohan. Sorry I'm late. At least I didn't miss saying goodbye to everyone before…" she trailed off. Her eyes then traced Gohan up and down several times, and she looked as if she was halfway between bursting out laughing and blushing in embarrassment.

Gohan raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself. His initial fears were set aside when he confirmed that he was indeed still wearing pants, but then he noticed something else. He looked back at Videl, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he realized what she had been staring at.

Before they could say a word, Vegeta supplied a characteristically mocking observation. "As if those ridiculous costumes weren't bad enough, now you two are dressing as twins _all_ the time?"

Indeed, Gohan and Videl were dressed not unlike what a pair of twins would be. Both were wearing khaki cargo pants, comfortably loose without being baggy, and each wore a pair of dark brown boots. They both had on t-shirts, Videl's a light blue and Gohan's a deep navy. And both had on loose button-down, collared t-shirts over top, with the colors identically reversed from the tees. To complete the ensemble, both were wearing their Saiyaman watches and identical baseball caps— red brims, dark blue caps, with the red dragon logo of the West City team emblazoned on the front.

The two teens just stared at each other for a moment as Goku, Chi-Chi, and Bulma looked up to see the reason for Vegeta's comment. Then, the two proceeded to burst out in a laughing fit.

"Oh… man…" Gohan gasped after a long minute. "How… did we manage… to pull this one off?"

"And to think…" Videl said, equally winded, "I just picked this out a little while ago… it was why I was late!"

A fresh round of laughter followed, with Goku and Bulma joining in as well. Even Vegeta looked to be hard pressed with sticking to only an amused smirk. Chi-Chi, of course, was standing there with her hands clasped at her chin, staring at the pair with hearts in her eyes. "Oh, you two look so _cute_!" she sighed.

Had they heard her, it might have put an embarrassed halt to the display, but they were too busy laughing at their own misfortune to hear her. Instead, they were cut short when Goten and Trunks came barreling out of the house to see what was so funny. Goten glanced back and forth between Gohan and Videl, a wide smile appearing on his face. "Hey, do I get to play look-alike, too?"

It was a while before they ever managed to finish packing.

.

.

.

.

.

Next chapter: _Take (Me) Out (to) the Ballgame_

***A/N* -** On a somewhat nostalgic note, this was the last chapter published in this fic's original run. Not that it matters to anyone but me, but the next update will be putting us in uncharted territory, so to speak. It's a whopper, almost twice the size of any other chapter so far, and my personal favorite (though that may just be because I'm a big baseball fan and susceptible to such irrationalities around the beginning of April every year).


	14. Chapter 14: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Take (Me) Out (to) the Ballgame**

After a healthy dose of good-natured laughter, the four adults managed to finish loading the bulbous yellow Capsule Corp. aircraft, and soon realized that they needed to get going before Goku was hungry again. The two teenagers and their charges waved goodbye as the jet faded out of sight, and then it was time to head to the stadium.

It was two-thirty, still an hour and a half before the first pitch, when Videl guided them to a landing just outside the gate. They had opted to use her jetcopter, figuring that four people flying in by any other means might have attracted unwanted attention.

They approached the massive stone archways that marked the main entrance to the open-air stadium. Goten and Trunks were already bouncing around in excitement, drawing a warm smile from the elderly lady who took their tickets and greeted them at the gate.

They thanked the ticket taker and entered the stadium, admiring the pleasant atmosphere of the park. The West City Dragons had a fairly modest home, but that made it no less impressive. The main gate was situated beyond the outfield fence, and they entered to the sight of the open grass picnic area that also served as the outfield seating. A concrete walkway ran around the back of the grassy embankment, and it led into the concourse under the massive double tiers of stadium seating that wrapped back around from the foul poles to the rest of the park. The gigantic scoreboard was set behind the concrete walkway outside of right field, along the stadium wall. A jumbotron screen was currently shifting through a variety of advertisements, and the digital scoreboard was blank aside from the labels for innings and the teams, which prominently displayed the West City Dragons and, in a much simpler font, their opponents, the North City Titans.

The stadium was still almost empty so long before the first pitch, but that was the intent of arriving early. The group of four began walking along the path towards the third base-side concourse, Goten and Trunks looking around with wide eyes at the impressive display that was Victory Field.

With the two terrors entranced for the time being, Videl turned to Gohan. "You know, I think this little situation might be a blessing in disguise," she said, pointing to their eerily similar attire. "It would be a relief not to be recognized for once."

"You're right," Gohan agreed. "It'll be hard enough keeping these two on a leash without being swarmed by autograph hounds."

They walked under the concourse, where the concession stands set along the back wall grabbing the attention of the two small demi-Saiyans. It was no small struggle to convince them not to go charging off, aided mostly by promises of coming back down to get one of every edible ware as soon as they found their suite. While the outer wall to their right was lined with the shops, the view to their left overlooked the lower level of seating and the field itself. Ground crews were hard at work preparing the field for the day's game, to the accompaniment of various classic baseball tunes over the stadium's public address system. Staircases alternated along the concourse, leading by turns down to the lower seats and up to the second level.

A hallway led off the concourse at the center point behind home plate, with a pair of elevators in the cramped area. Gohan was just browsing over the directory to check which floor their luxury box was on when one of the elevators opened in front of them. A man in an expensive business suit stepped out, bearing an ostentatious name tag that identified him as "Varian Tressting – Stadium Director." He spared the group a quick glance, but even as he turned away to move on, he stopped dead in his tracks. He wheeled back around to stare at Videl, his eyes wide in obvious recognition. Gohan flinched before the man even spoke. _So much for being incognito_, he thought, dejected.

To confirm his fears, Director Tressting's mouth turned into a smile so wide it must have hurt. "Miss Satan! I can't believe it! What an honor to have the daughter of the World Champion come to see a game at our very own Victory Field!" he gushed, running over and latching onto her hand and shaking it, oblivious of the death glare he was now receiving from the target of his attention, and equally oblivious of the other three people standing in the cramped hallway. "Oh, my, this is so unexpected! If only you had called ahead to let us know you would be attending, we could have set something up." The director spoke very rapidly, growing more breathless with every word.

Videl didn't bother to suppress her grimace. Despite the clothing, the hat, and the odds, her cover was blown before they had even found their seats. She resigned herself to the necessity of once again playing the role of "daughter of the champ," but decided she could at least try and keep a small bit of control over the situation. "Actually, I'm here with some friends of mine. We have the Capsule Corporation box." She nodded her head towards the three ignored members of her party, since her hands were still stuck in the director's grip. "This is Gohan, his younger brother Goten, and Trunks Briefs."

The director seemed to allow the first two names to go in one ear and out the other, but he gave a start at the third. He released Videl's hand and spun on the lavender-haired demi-Saiyan. Ignoring the crossed arms and imperious gaze from the young boy, he knelt down to tousle his hair. "Well, Mr. Briefs, we're certainly honored to have you here as well." The director's eyes widened and he shot up, spinning back towards Videl. Gohan thought that if he didn't stop wheeling around like that soon, he would pass out from dizziness. Not that that would be an entirely bad thing.

"Miss Satan, I know you've left us with short notice," he said, blind to the possibility that she had not wanted to give any notice in the first place, "but I already know what we can do! We still need someone to throw out the first pitch for the season, and here you are! We would be delighted to have your services, and the fans would love it!" He beamed as if she had already agreed, despite the fact that Videl looked as if she would rather eat a gallon of pine tar. "And as for our young celebrity," he said, whirling back around to Trunks (Gohan was beginning to notice a slight wobble in the man's stance), "how would you like to be an honorary bat boy for the West City Dragons?"

Trunks, who had been playing the role of pint-sized prince to a tee and looking upon the man with undisguised disdain, did a one-eighty. His face lit up and he looked ready to start hopping up and down in excitement. "Really? That would be awesome!" he said, but his smile faded and he looked somewhat thoughtful. "Can my friend be a bat boy too?" he asked, pointing to an eager-looking Goten.

"Of course!" the director said, not missing a beat. "We'd be glad to have him as well."

Meanwhile, Gohan was looking on helplessly at the situation unfolding before him. What had promised to be a quiet day at the ballpark was turning into a situation that was out of control. The prospect of Goten and Trunks being off on their own was in and of itself inviting Armageddon. "Ah, sir, excuse me?" he said, trying to gain the director's attention.

Mr. Tressting wheeled around again to face him, and regarded him as if noticing his presence for the first time. "Yes, can I help you young man?" he asked officiously.

Gohan blinked once at the man's sudden change in demeanor, but plowed ahead. "Sir, I think it might be better if these two stayed with Videl and I for the game," he suggested.

The director's brow furrowed, but then he seemed to remember that the daughter of the champion had introduced this young man as being in her company. His businesslike expression turned into a smile, and he waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry young man. You should just enjoy yourself. We can take good care of them, and they are obviously looking forward to the chance!" Indeed, the two demi-Saiyans were now looking at Gohan with pleading puppy-dog eyes.

Gohan's brain was scrambling for some sort of excuse to keep the two terrors with he and Videl, but he was coming up blank. After all, he couldn't exactly say "_Oh, actually, I think it would be better they stick with me, or else they might blow up the stadium_."

Before his thoughts could get anywhere, the director clapped him on the shoulder, construing his brief silence for agreement. "There's a good lad. Don't worry, they'll be safe with us. Just relax and enjoy the game. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must make arrangements! Just wait in the lobby on the second floor through the elevators, I won't be long!" Before another word could be spoken, the man bustled off at nearly a run in his excitement.

Gohan was still gawking, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Goten and Trunks were running in circles around the older demi-Saiyan in excitement, chanting "We're gonna be bat boys!" over and over. Videl was leaning against the cool concrete wall, one hand pulling down the brim of her cap to cover her face as she muttered under her breath.

The teenage demi-Saiyan was broken out of his stupor by a sudden, insistent tugging on his sleeve. He looked down to see Goten and Trunks looking up at him with inquisitive expressions mirrored on their faces. When they had his attention, Goten asked, "Big brother, what's a bat boy?"

-- --- --

Without any better ideas presenting themselves, a very resigned Gohan and Videl led the group up to the second floor lobby as the director had said. If nothing else, Gohan was afraid that if they didn't show up, Director Tressting would launch a massive search for them that would leave them worse off than they already were.

The lobby had three walls lined with comfortable couches, above which were mounted a series of pictures displaying the most famous players, both past and present, to take the field for the West City Dragons. A reception desk took up the wall opposite the elevator, with a hallway beside it that led back into the administrative offices of the stadium.

Goten and Trunks were clambering over the couches to look at the portraits, somewhat more subdued now that their initial excitement was fading. Oddly enough, they seemed to regard the task of being bat boys as quite interesting, despite Gohan's description of how tedious the job would be. He had placed _heavy_ emphasis on the tedium. By now, the elder half-Saiyan wondered how much of their interest was in the actual job before them, and how much was for the opportunity to be out of their teenaged supervisors' direct sight.

Gohan and Videl were sitting side-by-side on the couch closest the elevator, sulking over their rotten luck. Their thoughts were broken when Goten gave a shout of surprise. "Hey, everybody, come look at this!" he called, hopping up and down on the plush furniture while pointing at the picture above him.

The rest of the group walked over, and when Gohan got a close look at the portrait Goten was pointing to, he laughed. "I don't believe it," he said, smiling and shaking his head.

Videl's brow furrowed as she peered at the picture. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was Yamcha," she said, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"Believe it," Gohan said. "I heard Krillin mention once that he'd gotten himself into the sport professionally after he gave up fighting, but this is a surprise."

Indeed it was Yamcha, telltale scars still showing up clearly despite his distance from the camera in the picture, and his identity was confirmed by the plaque beneath the photograph. The former fighter was in the familiar Dragons uniform, his wiry black hair hidden under a batting helmet. It was an impressive action shot, with Yamcha in mid-swing connecting with a pitch over the heart of the plate.

"Wow! Gohan," Videl's eyes widened when she looked at the label beneath the picture, "look at the dates on the plaque – this says he's still playing for the team."

It was Gohan's turn to be surprised. "You mean we're gonna see him _play_? Oh, man, just wait 'til we get to tell everyone else."

"Never mind that," Videl said, a wry grin spreading on her face as she turned to face Gohan. "Just wait until those two get into the dugout," she said, jerking a thumb towards the young boys.

Goten and Trunks shared a devious glance. "You mean we get to be bat boys, _and_ get to play with Mr. Yamcha?" Goten asked, his cheery voice tinged with an unmistakable trace of mischief.

The elder half-Saiyan gave a lopsided grin, realizing he needed to do some quick defusing of the devilish duo's sudden opportunity. "Yeah, you will. But that also means that Yamcha gets to keep an eye on you two when you're down there. Videl and I may not be able to see you from the box, but unless you want Chi-Chi and Bulma to get an earful when they get back, you had better keep yourselves under control."

The scheming pair shared another glance, but this one was decidedly less mischievous. It was obvious that the threat of their mothers' vengeance was still fresh enough on their minds to keep them somewhat subdued. With faint sighs, they looked up at Gohan and both gave him a resigned nod.

Any further discussion was cut short by the harried re-entrance of Director Tressting. He noticed the portrait they were observing and beamed. "Ah, yes, Yamcha, our star player! We were so glad to see him back this season," he said. "He had taken a couple years off from the sport, but it's good to have him swinging for the fences for the Dragons again!"

Before anyone else could get a word in, however, he was back to business. "You'll be pleased to know I've sorted everything out," he said, failing to notice that the two teenagers present looked anything but pleased at the news. "We'll be happy to have you down for the first pitch, Miss Satan, after which you're welcome to watch the game from the Capsule Suite you've already reserved – our finest luxury box, bar none. Quite regrettable that the Briefs rarely use it, but oh well. Young Mr. Briefs and his friend will of course be seeing the game from the dugout. The other two batboys seemed a bit put out by the news, thought they were getting second fiddle for a moment I suppose, but I think you all will get along famously."

The director finally paused to take a breath, and looked down at his watch. "My, how time flies!" he exclaimed. "It's almost time for the first pitch, we have to hurry. Miss Satan, Trunks, Goten, if you'll follow me? I'll show you to where you need to be."

He started shuffling the two boys out, but Videl sidestepped him and turned to Gohan. "See you in the box?"

"I'll wait up there for you," he confirmed. "According to the directory, it's on the fourth floor, corner suite, third base side." Videl nodded and followed the other three to the elevator, tossing Gohan a last wave as the doors began to close.

"Try not to kill the catcher!" Videl's wave turned into a thumbs up, and he caught a hint of her impish smile as the elevator doors closed between them.

-- --- --

Gohan waited for the elevator to return, then took the short ride up to the fourth floor. Instead of the spacious lobby on the second floor, the elevator opened this time to a well-lit hallway lined with thick blue carpet. The pristine white wall in front of him was set with evenly spaced doors that led into the suites themselves. He took the left path down the slowly curving hallway, double checking the numbers over the doors as he passed. A few of them were open, revealing the well-appointed rooms and groups of people inside who were settling in for the game. Almost all of the spectators he saw were wearing suits, and had the distinct air of businessmen; obviously, the luxury boxes were catered towards the team's more affluent clientele.

The end of the hallway came into view, the carpeted walkway ending with a window that looked back across the lower concourse and out towards left field. The door to the suite was closed, but a placard next to it displayed the familiar logo of Capsule Corporation. With a satisfied smile, he turned the knob and stepped inside.

It took Gohan all of a second to realize that this room definitely lived up to the name "luxury suite." First to catch his eye was the picture window at the opposite end of the room, which displayed a wide, unobstructed view of the field. There were bar stools and a counter set beneath the window, with baskets that looked to be filled with snack foods. There was a large television suspended from the ceiling, and a couch and several plush armchairs set against the walls under and across from it. Stepping inside and closing the door, Gohan noticed the area directly to his left was a corner kitchenette full of cabinets, a counter, and a small refrigerator. A quick check revealed that the kitchenette was stocked with everything from soft drinks to potato chips to a vegetable tray. When he walked over to the picture window, closer inspection revealed a door that led down to a private seating section with a dozen of the fold-up-seat chairs found throughout the park.

_I'm going to enjoy to this_, Gohan thought, letting loose a long, low whistle of awe.

After admiring the view of the lush green field and watching the teams warm up for a few minutes, he headed back towards the refrigerator. It was past lunchtime, and he had a while still before the first pitch, so he figured he might as well see how the food was.

-- --- --

Director Tressting showed Videl, Goten, and Trunks down into the lower levels of the stadium, leading them through the bare concrete corridors at a brisk trot. He pointed out a few things along the way, indicating the locker rooms and equipment closets with equal excitement in his breathless speech. He stopped when they reached a door labeled "Bat Boys," and turned to look at Goten and Trunks. "You two can change in here and then head down to the dugout, which is at the end of this corridor," he explained, pointing down the hall they had been walking through. "I've had some uniforms and hats brought down, they should fit you well enough. If you have any questions, you can ask the other two bat boys when you get to the dugout. They've done this before, and I'm sure they'll be glad to help. Good luck!"

After ushering the boys into the small locker room, he turned to Videl. "This way to the dugout, Miss Satan." He checked his watch. "Good, good, right on time. Won't have to wait long at all," he said briskly.

Videl just rolled her eyes and followed after him. As if being recognized at all wasn't bad enough, she was about to be placed front and center before the entire stadium.

They turned a corner, and bright sunlight could be seen streaming in from the end of the hallway. The dugout was mostly empty with the players out finishing up their warmups. Videl looked out onto the field, trying to spot Yamcha. The director, meanwhile, pulled out a handheld radio from a holster on his belt and spoke quickly into it. A few seconds after he replaced it on his belt, the music over the public address faded away, and the players for both teams started jogging back into the dugouts.

"Follow me, please, Miss Satan," the director said, walking out onto the field. The bright sunlight was refreshing after the damp corridors, but the announcer's words over the stadium speakers drained what little was left of her good mood.

"_Victory Field welcomes you to opening day of the West City Dragons' season! Before the starting lineups, we are pleased and honored to present you with the first pitch ceremony, to be thrown by none other than the daughter of the World Savior and Martial Arts Champion. Please give a warm West City welcome to Videl Satan!_" Her name was greeted to raucous cheering from the packed stadium, and she noticed the jumbotron flashing her name in bold, colorful letters out of the corner of her eye. She managed a halfhearted wave to the tumultuous fans as she reached the pitcher's mound. One of the Dragons' bullpen catchers was standing at home plate with the umpiring crew, and even they were applauding with enthusiasm.

"Now, don't worry about throwing a strike or anything, just toss it in there," Director Tressting told her, nearly shouting to be heard over the din. He handed her a baseball that looked to be fresh out of the box and stepped away, now clapping with everyone else.

Videl couldn't suppress the grin that rose to her face as the catcher slapped his mitt and crouched behind the plate._ Might as well make this look good_, she thought. She twirled her arm a few times to loosen up the muscles as she stepped onto the mound.

The southpaw vixen toed the rubber and took her stance, pausing only a moment before beginning her windup. With a practiced precision, she hurled a fastball straight down the pipe.

Had it been anyone else on the mound, the sight of someone treating the ceremonial first pitch so seriously would have elicited a few chuckles from the crowd. They were used to seeing long-retired players, celebrities, or politicians do the honors, or athletes whose talents lay in other sports. Therefore, they held low expectations, other than getting a good laugh when an ungainly toss sent the catcher lunging to put leather on the throw. Consequently, the fans would have been surprised enough to see anything resembling a strike.

After the catcher was lifted straight into the backstop with the sheer momentum of the throw, the deafening silence that ensued was priceless.

Videl wore a satisfied smirk as she sauntered back towards the dugout. She tossed a little wave to the mute masses, not caring that all the people in the stadium, save two, were staring slack-jawed at her as she stepped out of sight. One was up in the luxury boxes, shaking his head in bemusement with a broad, admiring grin on his face, while the other was standing in the corner of the dugout, hand clamped over his mouth as he tried desperately to contain his laughter.

Not pausing to acknowledge the dumbfounded stares of the majority of the players in the dugout, she stepped briskly into the corridor, heading back the way she had come in. She passed Goten and Trunks in the hallway. Both had managed to get into their Dragons uniforms, though Goten's was several sizes too large, the cap included. The young boy was positively swimming in the outfit, but his face was plastered with a massive smile. Despite his large head of gravity-defying hair, his cap dropped down to nearly cover his eyes. "Don't we look cool?!" he chirped.

"You look just like real players," she said, smiling. She crouched down and plucked off his cap to tousle his hair. "But don't get any ideas, or you-know-who will hear of it," she said, putting the cap back on Goten's head and pulling the brim down over his eyes with a playful tug.

"C'mon, Goten, or they'll start without us!" Trunks urged, grabbing one of Goten's overlarge sleeves and dragging him towards the field. The youngest demi-Saiyan turned to wave back at Videl as they left, his hand not escaping the fabric of his uniform.

The teen smiled to herself and headed back up to the stadium proper. Now that the annoying business of the first pitch was out of the way, just maybe she could get up to the luxury box and try to enjoy the game.

-- --- --

Yamcha had been speechless when he had seen who was throwing out the first pitch for opening day, but that had faded at the comical display that ensued. Poor Bryers wouldn't be taking pitches from _anyone_ for a while. Yamcha was still trying to keep himself from laughing when his teammates and the crowd had awoken from their stunned stupor, but at what he saw next, it was his turn to stare in open-mouthed shock.

The sight of the dynamic duo was unmistakable, and they had just walked into the dugout, wearing bat boy uniforms and looks of excitement and anticipation. He gulped. With Videl being famous and all, seeing her here to throw out the first pitch hadn't been too unnerving. But the sight of Goten and Trunks was a shock to the system, especially for someone who knew their tendencies towards mayhem and devastation. And they were going to be _bat boys_, no less!

_So much for a nice, relaxing game of baseball_, he thought with resignation. And with an excited cry from the direction of the dugout entrance, he knew that he'd been spotted.

"Mister Yamcha!" Goten called, quite literally hopping over the players in the way as he ran over. Trunks weaved in and out of the forest of big-leaguers, and Yamcha didn't like the grin on the lavender-haired boy's face. He didn't like it one bit.

"Hey there big guy!" Yamcha greeted with a good natured chuckle, giving Goten a high-five that the tiny demi-Saiyan leapt six feet in the air to deliver. "What brings you two dudes here?"

"Some director guy saw us when we came in, then when he heard who my mom was, he said we could be bat boys," Trunks explained. Before Yamcha could reply, a nasally drawl rose from behind him.

"So it is you. Are you little babies sure you can watch the whole game without needing your diapers changed?" Whoever it was sounded as if he had a rather severe head cold.

Yamcha saw the death glare Trunks gave the speaker, a scowl worthy of the son of Vegeta. The fighter-turned-ballplayer turned to see the stare's recipient. A tall boy, who looked to be about sixteen, was leaning haughtily against the side wall of the dugout. He was skinny and pale, and his long blonde hair ran down to his shoulders from under his baseball cap. Yamcha faintly recalled seeing him as a batboy several times during the last season he had played… and one other time, at a very memorable World Martial Arts Tournament.

"I think you should be more worried about yourself," Trunks replied coolly, ignoring the jibe, "since a weakling like you might not even be able to lift a bat back to the dugout."

The teen bristled at the insult, but quickly regained his haughty expression. "So you think you're so tough just because you used cheap shots and fancy tricks to win that tournament? You got another thing coming." He loosed a combination of a snort and a quick laugh that sounded like a pig attacking a trough.

A second boy walked up beside the first teen and crossed his arms with a similar glare. He was shorter than the other, with a pug-like nose and unkempt, greasy black hair that stuck out from under his own ball cap. "Well, well, Idasa. If it isn't the little toddlers from the tournament," he said in a raspy voice. "I didn't think they carried uniforms in your sizes." He paused, and took in Goten's oversized attire. "And I guess I was right," he snickered.

Goten cocked his head to one side and looked thoughtful, bringing one sleeve-shrouded finger up to scratch his chin as he observed, "But big sister said we look just like real players."

The two older boys shared a glance, and then burst out laughing. "I think your sister needs to get her eyes checked!" the black-haired boy cackled.

"I don't know what would be funnier," the other sniggered, "whether she actually thought that, or that you believed her! What do you think, Ikose?"

Yamcha saw Goten's lip begin a dangerous quiver, and was about to defuse the argument, but that was before he saw the positively wicked smirk appear on Trunks' face. _Oh, this ought to be good_, he thought, holding his tongue until the young prince could deliver his own retort.

"You'd better be careful what you say about his big sister," Trunks said offhandedly, placing subtle emphasis on the last two words.

"Why's that?" the blonde replied. "Is she some giant fatty who'll sit on us if we're mean to him?" he asked through a half-stifled round of fresh laughter.

Yamcha winced, ruefully thinking, _Fighting isn't the only thing Vegeta teaches his kid_. These two idiots had just been led into a verbal trap by an eight year old.

"Hmm, now you'd _really_ better be careful," Trunks said, looking down to inspect his fingernails. He paused, waiting for the teens' laughter to die lamely. He leveled his gaze back on the skinny blonde, Idasa. "The Champ might not like you talking about his daughter like that."

The two older boys' mouths dropped open as if their jaws were lead weights. "B-b-but… Hercule's d-daughter? His s-s-sister?" Ikose stuttered lamely.

"Oh, not his _real_ sister, you simpleton," Trunks explained with a casual venom only the son of Vegeta could muster. "He just calls her that because she hangs around with him and his brother so much."

The older boys were both still staring wide-eyed at them, their mouths opening and closing in ridiculous parodies of puffer fish, when Trunks tugged Goten's sleeve and led him towards the other side of the dugout.

Yamcha just shook his head, chuckling to himself, and followed them. With those other two kids in the dugout to keep Goten and Trunks occupied, maybe he could relax and watch the show, instead of his back.

-- --- --

Gohan was still half-smiling from Videl's display as he worked through the food supplies of the luxury suite. It had been a struggle at times, but he had managed to leave some of everything for when Videl made it to the box. He watched the players take the field while they announced the lineups, while he assembled his sixth sandwich from the tray of bread, meats, cheeses, and every condiment a Saiyan stomach could desire. He had already attacked the dozen varieties of snack chips, the refrigerator full of every kind of refreshment he had heard of, and some he hadn't, and had been halfway to Otherworld when he had first tasted the basket full of chocolate chip cookies that were so fresh, they were still warm. By the time the starting lineups were being announced, Gohan had eaten his fill for the time being. _When I tell Vegeta about this, he's going to become one _huge_ baseball fan_, he thought with amusement.

Gohan's ears perked up when he heard Yamcha's name announced over the stadium speakers. A closer look revealed that his father's old friend was now jogging out towards right field to a louder-than-average greeting cheer from the hometown crowd.

The distinctive click of a door being opened came from behind him, and he saw Videl literally jump inside, slamming – and locking – the exit behind her. He caught a glimpse of the rabid crowd of groupies, fans, and photographers before the door slammed shut, and he could still hear their muffled shouts begging for autographs and interviews through the thick wood of the door. The young woman smiled at him, however, having reached relative safety. "Did I miss anything?" she asked, grinning as she walked over towards the window.

"You're just in time," Gohan replied, gesturing down to the field. Indeed, the first batter was just now beginning the process of kicking dirt over the chalk of the batter's box. "In fact, you might still have time to sign a few autographs…" he suggested casually, though he was betrayed by a mischievous smirk.

"I'd rather kiss Vegeta than go back out in _that_," she said, jerking a thumb towards the door, which was rattling on its hinges from incessant knocking. "At least with him, death would be quick and possibly even painless."

"Painless? I'm not sure. It depends on who got to you first: Vegeta, or Bulma," he said, grinning.

"Point," said Videl with a smile. She stopped to take in their accommodations. "Not bad," she observed, nodding and looking impressed. "I'm glad to see you left at least a little food for me," she said, taking in the discarded wrappers, plates, and the half-empty sandwich tray.

"I aim to please," he chuckled. The half-Saiyan grabbed one of the baskets and offered it to her. "Try these cookies, they put even my mom's to shame," he said. It was high praise indeed; for a son of Chi-Chi to disparage her cooking in the slightest was to risk capital punishment. Videl grabbed one and took a bite.

"Excellent," she agreed, nodding. Their attention was drawn to the field as cheers rang from the crowd; a check of the scoreboard showed the count was now no balls and one strike.

While waiting between pitches, Gohan grabbed a program off the counter and flipped through it. He found the lineup card, which listed the two teams' starters and their statistics. As it was opening day, the stats were listed for the previous year. However, he noticed an asterisk next to Yamcha's column, which said the stats were actually from three seasons ago.

Videl leaned over to skim the stat sheet for herself. "Wow, Yamcha was doing pretty well," she observed. "The director wasn't kidding when he said he was their star player."

Gohan, whose experience with baseball had mostly involved history and record books, was impressed as well. "You can say that again. I think I know why he took the last few years off, though; if he wasn't careful, he'd be really turning some heads with these numbers."

"You know, I thought his name seemed familiar when I met him six months ago, and now I know why. He was on the sports highlight shows basically every night that last year he played," Videl said. She glanced up to see the 2-1 pitch buzz in for a second strike, spurring more cheers from the crowd.

It made sense, of course, for Yamcha to stand out in a sporting event when competing with "normal" humans. Even having given up fighting, and never really training up to the standards of his friends in the first place, the former desert bandit was more than capable of regarding a 100 mile-per-hour fastball like a slow-moving semi. Gohan didn't know how much Yamcha had had to suppress his strength, but judging by the numbers, it looked like the old wolf was allowing himself to show off at least a little bit.

The stands outside erupted with a called third strike, inspiring Gohan to look over the statistics for the players in the Dragons' starting pitching rotation. Their ace for opening day was a solid hurler, he noted, leading the league in both strikeouts and ERA the season before.

"Hey Videl, you better be real careful if you see the director again," he said, struck by playful inspiration.

"Why's that?" she asked, regarding him quizzically. "Aside from the obvious, of course."

"After your little show with the first pitch, he'll probably try and sign you up," he said, grinning.

She laughed, her azure eyes sparkling. "Oh, that's just what I need. Though, maybe if I tell them about your two-story jump last year, you'll be the one they're after."

"I'm telling you, it was the shoes!" he said, regarding her with mock exasperation.

Their laughter mingled with the cheers outside as another batter went down on strikes.

-- --- --

"Trunks, this is _boring_," Goten complained. "When do we get to do something?"

"Just wait, Goten," Trunks said, though his voice was stressed with his own obvious impatience. "It's almost our turn."

"But even if it is, we might not get to do anything!" Goten said. He leaned forward from his position on top of a large, cylindrical water cooler. "I haven't even seen the other team's bat boys. What if our guys walk back every time too?" he asked worriedly, observing the fact that both of the batters for the opposing team had struck out and carried their own bats back with them to the dugout.

"Oh, you kids don't have to worry about that," one of the players piped up from the bench beside them, his voice muffled by an enormous wad of chewing gum. "We'll keep you plenty busy once we get our turn at the plate," he said, punctuating the statement by producing a large pink bubble. It popped, and the player worked the gum back into his mouth.

"I hope so," Goten pouted.

On the edge of his vision, Trunks caught the unwelcome approach of two very familiar faces. He rolled his vivid blue eyes. "Here they come again," he mumbled.

Goten caught the whisper, and tracked his partner's line of sight. His expression went unnaturally dark when he saw the older boys who had made fun of him, and even his adopted 'big sister,' Videl. He didn't like them very much.

"Wow, you two are still around?" the tall, nasal-voiced boy called. "Isn't it time to go get your bottles from your mommies?"

"Go away, you insects," Trunks replied, not even bothering to look at them.

The teenagers glared rather pathetically at him. They weren't used to their prey talking back, and it showed. "Can it you pint-sized… uh… half-pint!" the black-haired boy sputtered.

"You could at least make up your mind if you're going to try and insult me," Trunks drawled, still not turning his eyes from the field.

Ikose resumed his puffer fish imitation. However, his older brother rounded on Goten, who was still crouched on top of the cooler, looking like a perched bird, albeit in extremely baggy clothing. He had sensed earlier that this boy would be a lot easier to get to. "Hey, kid, they run out of uniforms in toddler size?" he quipped. In a testament to his stupidity, he decided to travel the same disastrous course his brother had attempted not ten minutes ago.

Goten wasn't going to be egged on so easily this time. His usually good-natured features frowned darkly as he looked down at the blonde boy, who was a foot below him thanks to his high perch. "Big sister says I look just like a real player, and she knows a lot more than _you_," he said firmly, sticking out his tongue.

"Shut up, kid," Idasa shot back. "There's no way you know the daughter of the champ. You're just making that up, you liar!"

Goten scowled at him before replying. The look on his face contrasted sharply with the loud cheers that boomed from the stands, as the Dragons' left fielder made a great diving catch on a line drive for the third out. "I'm not a liar! You're just jealous. Big brother says people like you are ig… ignur…" he stopped, his face screwing up in thought.

"Ignorant," Trunks supplied offhandedly.

The blonde boy growled. The effort was rather pathetic, and wholly ineffective, directed at children who had stared down the likes of Majin Buu, Vegeta, and, most notably, Chi-Chi. "You just wait you little runt!" Idasa nearly shouted. "You'll get—" He stopped abruptly, and sniffed the air. A faint wisp of smoke was rising from the area at his feet. He looked down, and realized the wisp of smoke was coming _from_ his feet. Or, more accurately, a burning strip of paper inserted into his left shoe.

He began jumping up and down wildly, a look of panic on his face. His frantic stamping carried him towards the other end of the dugout in his frenzy to extinguish the hot foot, his brother following him, waving and shouting.

Goten and Trunks burst out into wild laughter, with the youngest demi-Saiyan nearly tumbling from his perch atop the cooler. As their laughter died down, they noticed a half-suppressed snigger coming from the gum-chewing player they had talked to earlier.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time they let those spoiled brats in this dugout," he chuckled when he caught the young boys' gaze, smiling broadly. He flipped open his palm, revealing a cigarette lighter cradled by his thumb: the weapon responsible. "Our little secret, m'kay?"

The two demi-Saiyans nodded vigorously, still smiling. They definitely liked _this_ ball player.

Yamcha reentered the dugout just then, tossing his mitt onto the bench and sitting down. "You keeping these two out of trouble, Baxter?" he asked, reaching over to fill a small cup from the cooler Goten was still hovering on.

"Oh yeah," the other player replied, popping another large gum bubble. "While you're out there trimming the hedges, we get to have some fun," he said, jabbing Yamcha in the ribs with an elbow.

"Glad to hear it," the former fighter laughed. He paused, and looked around over the brim of his cup as he took a sip. "Where'd those two other kids go?" he asked.

"They had to hop off somewhere," Baxter said, winking at Goten and Trunks.

Yamcha noticed the unspoken exchange, but didn't press the matter, deciding from experience that he didn't want to know. He supposed it was fate that the two biggest troublemakers in the solar system would be inevitably drawn to the Dragon's resident prankster. He only hoped that those two snotty teenagers would keep the three of them busy long enough for his own hide to survive the day.

A new round of loud cheering roared through the stadium as the Dragons' leadoff batter singled into right field. "One of you guys going to get that bat?" Yamcha prompted, standing up and tossing aside his paper cup.

"Ooh! Ooh! Me! Me!" Goten said, darting out onto the field like a mongoose. He returned not two seconds later, the large timber instrument cradled in his small arms, which were still completely covered by his long sleeves. "What now? What now?" he asked eagerly, hopping up and down in excitement. His bouncing caused his oversized ball cap to fall down over his eyes, and the vivacious young boy pushed it back up with one sleeved hand.

"C'mon, I'll show you," Yamcha offered, starting to walk over towards the shelves at the other end of the dugout. "I've gotta get my own bat, I'm on deck."

"Next time it's my turn, Goten!" Trunks called jealously as they walked away, with Goten still hopping up and down as he went.

-- --- --

"There he is!" Videl called, pointing down to the field.

Gohan looked up from the program, and saw Goten rush out to the batters box, grab the waiting bat, and streak back into the dugout in the span of a few seconds. "Oh man, you were right, that uniform is huge on him!" Gohan laughed, able to pick out his younger brother's oversized attire easily, even from this distance. "He's swimming in it!"

"This is where I'm supposed to say how cute he looks and how horrible it is that we don't have a camera," Videl said, not quite sarcastically.

Gohan eyed her slyly. "But you won't, of course."

Videl turned up her nose and crossed her arms. "Of course."

After a few seconds: "But it doesn't mean it isn't true," Gohan admitted.

Another pause. "After all, the photos would make wonderful blackmail material."

"Now, is that any way for Saiyagirl to think?" Gohan asked.

"Absolutely not," Videl said, sounding scandalized. "It's the way Saiyagirl's alter ego thinks, though. Calculating and devious to the last."

"And Saiyaman and _his _alter ego wouldn't have it any other way."

They smiled as cheers came from the crowd; the second batter had walked. Gohan and Videl learned forward eagerly. Yamcha was up.

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Next chapter: _Take (Me) Out (to) the Crowd_


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